


(De)Classified Files

by Orlissa



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:57:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 71
Words: 36,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3649491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orlissa/pseuds/Orlissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles based on Tumblr prompts. Mostly Skyeward, but other couples also make a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let Me Lead You into Dance (Skyeward)

“It’s a total bust,” Skye groans, looking around the room of expensive suits and sparkling jewelry. It was going to be a simple mission: sneak into the fancy gala their suspected Chitauri tech dealer was supposed to attend, convince him that they are potential buyers, and then get an appointment with him when they can actually take a look at the merchandize – and if it’s real, arrest the guy. Only surprise, surprise – the guy didn’t show.

And Skye is getting fed up with this whole thing – she feels uncomfortable in her dress (although she has to admit, it really is beautiful), her feet hurt, the classical music is so annoying, and everybody’s just so… stuck up. She just wants this mission to be over.

“It’s not,” replies Ward calmly, his eyes still scanning the room, but sipping from a champagne flute – a surefire sign that he expects no more action tonight. “We can make something out of this night.”

Skye huffs.

“Like what? Do you want me to sniff around the guests, trying to find somebody who’s into alien stuff? Or someone who fuddles with his taxes?”

The corner of Ward’s mouth actually curls into an amused smirk at that.

“No, I was actually thinking about something more enjoyable.” He places his flute on the table, then holds out his hand for her. “Wanna dance?”

She’s surprised; hesitant. It’s way more open and playful from the specialist than she’s used to.

“I… I’m not really good at it,” she stammers, cheeks flushing.

“It’s okay,” he smiles at her, kind and inviting, and her fears disappear. “I’ll lead.” And he’s already holding her hand and leading her to the dancefloor. Then, placing her left hand on his shoulder, and his right on her waist, he starts leading, gliding with her on the floor in a way she didn’t think she could.

Suddenly, the party is not even close to annoying anymore. It’s magical – she’s engulfed in light, dancing with a handsome man who’s looking at her like she is more precious than the sun and the stars (how could she have not noticed it until now?).

So, yes – the night is not a total bust.


	2. As the Rain Falls (Skyeward)

The thunder and the lightening starts as they are halfway back to the base. For Grant’s, it’s pure annoyance – the sound as the rain hits the windshield, the rhythmic movement of the wipers, the blasts of wind that sometimes threaten to take control of the car… No. A thunderstorm is what he wants the least right now.

Skye, sitting next to him on the passenger seat, seems to have a completely opposite reaction to the weather – her eyes are wide, cheeks flushed, lips curling into a slight, amazed smile.

As much as he loves this look on her, he also kind of fears it – because he knows her well enough to know what it means.

“Can you pull over somewhere?” she asks suddenly.

“Why?” he asks, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

“It’s just… Can you?”

“Why?” he repeats, which earns him a little shrug.

“Just ‘cause. I wanna get out a little.”

This actually makes him look at her.

"We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm, and you wanna stop and feel the rain?"

She shrugs once again, with a look on her face that says she thinks it’s a completely rational request.

“Yes. It’s kinda romantic.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a freaking thunderstorm, Skye! I won’t have you get pneumonia…”

“You are going a little overboard with this…”

“…Because you thought it would be romantic to take a walk in the rain!”

There’s a couple of moments of silence, then “So it’s a no?”

“You bet. The next stop is the base. Discussion over.”

The smile wilts from her face and her eyes narrow. She turns away from him in protesting silence, pouting. _Pouting_. Great. He’s pissed her off.

“Hey,” Grant starts, placing a placating hand on her knee. “I’m just worried about you, okay? It’s cold out there, and you’d be drenched in a minute.” He grabs her left hand, brings it to his lips, and presses a kiss against her soft skin. “But I promise, the next time it drizzles, we’ll take a walk. It’ll be romantic, and we won’t even catch a cold. Okay?”

She’s hesitant for a minute, like she wants to stay mad at him, but then she smiles.

“Alright. But don’t think I’ll let you forget this!”

He’s sure she won’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody else getting strong Midnight in Paris feels?


	3. Smile More (Skyeward)

A week into her training, Skye chooses a new personal mission: annoy, prod and amuse Grant Ward to a point where he’ll actual show some kind of emotion. Any kind of emotion (although she’d rather not like to be punched).

So she’s following him around, always being near him, always having something to say, something to ask. The most she gets is annoyed looks, though, and she supposes it’s his default setting, so she doesn’t take it as success.

Then one day she hits the jackpot.

He’s making inventory in the galley (of the food; for a change) when she finds him in the morning. She, still in her PJs, takes seat the counter, to observe him from there – to watch as he carefully checks every single can and jar and bottle, scanning the best before date, noting down how much food they have left, and putting together a meticulous shopping list at the same time.

The whole process – at least the way he does it, the concentration of his face, and the way his biceps flex as he moves – is quite mesmerizing. And a rather nice sight.

“You know,” she says after a while in a wondering tone, “if this whole superspy business doesn’t work out for you, I’m sure you could make a perfect butler. Or a househusband.”

She doesn’t expect any kind of reaction from him – maybe that’s why it’s so astonishing when his lips twitch.

"Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?" she says half-serious, half-joking, which causes his smile widen. Wow – it looks good on him.

“Maybe I did,” he replies, his tone almost flirtatious.

Skye chuckles.

“You know, you should smile more often. It makes wonders to you – suddenly, you are not half as robotic as you are on normal days.”

“Perhaps I will. If you give me a reason to,” he says, and she could swear he winks at her.

Okay, new mission: make Grant Ward smile more often.


	4. Know What You Want (Meldrew)

He won’t lie: one of the first things that attracted him to Melinda was her straightforwardness. She knew what she wanted, knew how to get it, and was not afraid to do anything to get it. He has always liked strong women, and he found this trait of her especially alluring.

Even if it meant that she would turn it against him sometimes.

When they first met and started a tentative courtship, they agreed to take things slow. Neither of them was a particularly easy person, with her warrior soul and his keen eye, so getting to know each other slowly, without doing anything rash, sounded like a good idea in the beginning. They had a couple of nice, quiet dates, long walks and comfortable talks, and while he felt that this relationship had a future, he was content with the pace it was going.

Apparently, Melinda was on a different opinion.

He was aware of her skillset, of course, but he was still a little surprised when one night as he got home after work, he found her in his apartment (he hadn’t told her where he lived; the lock seemed untouched; the alarm didn’t go off).

But it was not the end of the story – she was not just in his apartment. But in his bedroom. In his bed. In the nude.

Truth to be told, he was more amused by the situation than scared, or even feel violated.

"Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?" he asked, a slight smile on his lips as he took her in.

Melinda only shrugged, smirking at him.

“I was starting to get impatient. I thought I’d give you a small push.”

It became clear to him that night that he would end up marrying this woman.


	5. The Master Plan (FitzSimmons/Skyeward)

The most dangerous thing in the world is not nuclear bombs, invading alien forces, and not even simple, human stupidity – it’s boredom. Because when you’re bored, you mind makes up all those stupid scenarios it would like to see play out and, and since you’re bored, you actually play them out.

With varying results.

So it’s not a big surprise that Jemma’s craziest idea comes to her on an awfully slow Monday afternoon.

“You know,” she starts, sitting at her desk in the Bus’s lab, playing with her pen, “I think Skye and Ward would make a cute couple.”

A couple of feet from her, Fitz scoffs.

“No, I mean it. They are both very aesthetically appealing, similar in some fields, while in other fields, their differences would balance each other out rather well, I think.”

Fitz kicks his chair back and turns towards her.

“And what do you plan on doing with this theory?”

Jemma sits up straight.

“Of course we should test it out,” her words are coming faster as she speaks. “We should get them together!” She claps her hands.

“Okay, but how?” She can feel the excitement creeping into Fitz’s voice as well.

“Maybe…” she thinks out loud. “Maybe we could give them a model to covet. If there was a happy couple around them, maybe they would realize that it is what they want too.”

Fitz seems to consider this for a moment, but then opens his arms wide helplessly.

“Where do you see a happy couple here we could use as an example?”

Jemma scratches her chin. Well, it’s a valid question.

“Maybe we could play that part. Pretend to be a couple.” As ridiculous as it sounded at first in her head, she’s starting to get excited by the idea. “That way we could even adjust our behavior to their responses! It would be great.”

For a long, long moment, Fitz only stares at her, almost as if she’d grown a second head. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in."


	6. Elegy for the Dead (Skyeward)

His comms go down exactly three seconds before the compound he’s at blows. It’s a huge explosion, beautiful in a morbid way – she can see the flames even from her position, almost a mile away.

Trip has to hold her down, or she’d run there, right into the fire, because even if she can’t save him, it’s still better to die with him than to live without him. He holds her until she falls to her knees, sobbing and crying and pleading and shouting. He holds her until the last fragment of her strength leaves her and she goes limp in his arms. Then he picks her up and brings her home.

She can’t sleep. It’s been hours, hours she’s spent lying in his bunk, enveloped in his sheets, inhaling in his scent, and she’s completely exhausted, but she just can’t sleep.

Because there’s no way he survived that explosion.

And she just can’t rest in a world where he doesn’t exist.

Finally, she slips into some strange half-state: she’s not awake; she’s not asleep. She sees the world around herself, but it’s muted, far away.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t move when the bunk door opens.

Her visitor doesn’t say a word as he enters the tiny room, only sits down on the edge of the bed, slips his arms under her, and pulls her body up and against his, until her head is cradled in the nook of his neck.

She only realizes it’s Grant when he presses a kiss to her forehead.

She pulls away a little, feeling slightly dizzy, and looks into his eyes. She can barely believe what she’s seeing – his face is battered, yes, and covered in soot, and he smells of ashes and smoke, but he’s there, and he’s alive.

“It’s you,” she breaths. "I thought you were dead."

He just shakes his head slightly.

“I told you I’d never leave you alone.”

She kisses him. And then, she can finally sleep.


	7. Don’t Leave Me (Philharmonic)

Audrey is a simple girl. She loves her music, her flowers, her little reading nook in the corner of the living room, her peace. She never asked to be the obsession of a psychopath, or to be protected by a secret organization.

She is scared – completely terrified, even now, when the people in dark suits claim that they got Daniels, that he no longer poses a threat to her. She is still afraid, afraid enough no to want to be alone.

Afraid enough to grab the sleeve of the kindest-looking agent as he is about to leave her apartment ( _the threat is neutralized, she’s is safe, she doesn’t have to worry, they’ll leave now_ ). She feels small and vulnerable and so much like a child, and maybe that’s why she’s not embarrassed when she looks up at him, with tears in her eyes, and says, "Please, don’t leave."

The man just smiles, takes her hand, and sits down next to her on the couch.

“Alright, if you need me, I can stay for a while, Miss Nathan,” she says.

“Audrey,” she corrects him without thinking about it.

“Excuse me?”

“Please, call me Audrey.” Her voice is still so thin she barely recognizes it, but maybe her strength is returning.

The agent smiles at her.

“Pleased to meet you, Audrey,” he says, “My name is Phil.”


	8. Training Between Lovers (Skyeward)

After they get together, their training sessions change a little.

Probably not for the better.

Of course, they are still determined to reach their goals – he to make her a formidable agent, she to become one. And they work hard on it. They really do. Most of the time.

But they still stray a little – some wandering hands here, some stolen kisses there. Of course, only when no-one is looking.

When they think no-one is looking.

And then there are times when they do more than straying – when training is all but forgotten in flavor of banter and flirting and working each other up.

When he will deliberately run his hands over her curves as he corrects her stance, giving particular attention to the curve of her butt and the underside of her breasts.

When she will press her rear against his groin as he stands beside her, teaching her how to get out of a headlock (“ _well, distracting the opponent by grinding him is a method, isn’t it?_ ”).

When he will trip her on purpose during sparring, and then falls with her to the mats, just so he could press his chest against her breasts, while his lips are dangerously close to hers.

When she’ll say that tickling the opponent is a legit mode to disable them, and she demonstrates it on him, first attacking his ticklish parts, then unsuspiciously moving to his… more pleasurable areas.

When he’ll play with her hair while explains her the new moves, or the way she has to operate some new weapon, because he knows it’s her weakness.

When she smiles cockily at him, tossing her hair behind her shoulders, denying one of his orders, saying, "Come over here and make me."

(He usually does. Although it’s usually not some kind of exercise he makes her do at this point.)

So yes, things sometimes go out of hand in the gym, and then their training sessions are usually cut short. But it doesn’t mean that then they are done with the physical exercise for the day. Not even close.


	9. Freudian Slip (Skyeward)

Skye knows she’s in trouble the moment she gets back to the Bus after the mission – her S.O.’s hard-set jaw and narrowed eyes are enough testament for that. And okay, she won’t say he’s completely unjustified in his anger – after all, she did defy his order, even if her decision ultimately led to the success of the operation.

She is still formulating her little defense-speech in her mind she plans to present to him, hoping to somewhat placate him, when he – in a quite rough way – grabs her arm and drags her back to the avionics bay, without giving her a chance to speak.

He only starts shouting when they are out of earshot of the others.

"Have you lost your damn mind!?” he snaps at her, making her wince. “That move of yours was completely irresponsible, reckless and stupid, and endangered the whole mission!”

“Hey!” she counters. “Thanks that reckless move we have the guy! We won! And everybody’s in one piece! I don’t know about you, Robot, but in my book, it’s a freaking big victory, so I really don’t care how we got here.”

“Well, I do!” He takes a half-step forward, invading her personal space, but she doesn’t back down. “Because you could have died out there­–“

“Please, I had everything under control–“

“And I can’t lose you!”

“Well, in that case…” Her words die on her lips as what he just said sinks in. For three whole seconds, there is complete silence between them, only broken by his heavy breathing. “Wait a minute… What did you just say?”

“I, ah…” He runs his fingers through his hair in a helpless gesture, taking a step back, suddenly looking way more flustered than angry. “It’s just…” He clears his throat. “What you did was stupid. You could have died because of it, and, as your S.O., it’s something I cannot let happen. So I don’t want to see you defying my orders once again. Understood?”

Her mouth slightly opens in astonishment as she looks up to him.

“Of course, but–“

“Great. Now go, write your report. And don’t forget, we have training tomorrow morning,” and with that, he turns his back to her, and walks away, leaving Skye there, standing alone.

“…But that’s not what you meant, right?” she whispers to herself, touching her arm where his hand was only minutes ago.


	10. While You Were Sleeping

It’s a unanimous decision that somebody should be there at Skye’s bedside at all times until she wakes up. (Nobody even dares to say things like _if she wakes up_ , although all of them knows it’s a possibility; because despite of her strengthening vitals, no-ones knows what effects the GH-325 could have had on her.)

Coulson takes the first shift; Grant volunteers for the second.

There’s a strange serenity within the white walls of the med pod, next the beeping machine and in the harsh lights. A kind of peace he hasn’t known in a while; a kind of peace that makes him want to talk.

“Hello, Skye,” he starts, his voice barely above whisper, as he takes her hand. “It’s kind of… stupid, isn’t it? Me, sitting here, talking to you, when you can’t even hear me.” He pauses, his eyes flickering to her face, half expecting her to wake. “But I guess you’d find it funny. Maybe you’d mock me about it. And then come up with some silly nickname. And I’d act like it irritated me, but the truth is…” He sighs.

“The truth is, Skye, I feel lost without you, and it scares me.” He caresses the soft, but entirely too cold skin of her hand. “And not just now – you constantly have me scared, and I’m not used to being scared, because…” He bows his head, his forehead touching the back of her hand.

"I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified." Still holding her hand, he raises his head, and with his free hand, he touches her face. “And that’s why I keep my distance; that’s why I act like I don’t care. But Skye? I can’t do it anymore. I just can’t.”

He brings her hand to his lips, and presses a kiss against her skin.

“You have to come back to me, so I can show you how I really feel. So I can correct my mistakes.” His voice breaks. “Skye, you have to give me a chance to be who I really am; a chance to be with you.”


	11. Gentle Waves (Skyeward)

It was a sight Skye didn’t think she would ever get tired of – Grant standing at the edge of the water, with a huge, blissful grin on his face, holding Haylie’s hands, making sure the toddler wouldn’t fall, while she squealed excitedly whenever the gentle waves lapped at her tiny feet. It was her daughter’s first time at the beach, and so far she seemed to love it.

Grant took a step forward, so when the next wave came, the water went up to Haylie’s knees, making her baby girl squeal again. She even pulled her hands free from her father’s grasp to follow the retreating sea, but almost soon as she was on her own, she fell on her butt – walking was still a rather new thing to her, after all. For a fraction of a moment Skye was afraid that she’d start crying, and there was even a moment of silence from her, but then she started laughing and splashing at the water. A second later, just before the coming, slightly bigger wave could have gotten her, Grant picked her up and twirled her around in the air, prompting delighted laughter from the girl.

Fatherhood suited him surprisingly well – he doted on Haylie. From the moment she was born, she was the center of his universe, his sun and stars. Haylie was a surprise baby, a result of Skye’s new, Inhuman biology not agreeing with human birth control. When she had first found out that she was pregnant, she was terrified – they both were. She worried what her genetic status would mean for her baby; Grant worried whether he could live up to the role waiting for him. She wouldn’t lie, there were bumps on the road, but they got over them and they didn’t matter anymore; the only thing that mattered was what they had now.

With the still giggling little girl propped up on his hip, Grant walked back to their blanket laid out on the sand, from where Skye has been observing the scene until now. As soon as he sat down, Haylie started stretching her arms towards Skye, calling “Ma, ma!”, asking her mother to hold her. Skye reached for her almost instinctively, taking Haylie from Grant, and hugging the squirming little girl close, pressing a kiss against her dark curls. Haylie’s hair was just long enough to be pulled back into two tiny pigtails. Grant refused to have it cut, and Skye had a feeling that if it was up to him, their daughter would waist-length hair until the day he died.

Skye buried her nose in Haylie’s hair, inhaling her soft baby scent, humming contently, getting lost in a moment. Her daughter was something she had never realized she wanted until she had her; now she couldn’t even imagine her life without Haylie.

The feeling of somebody watching her brought her out of reverie. Raising her head, her gaze met Grant’s. He had that gentle light in his eyes he always had whenever he looked at them.

“Be careful, Tin Man, in the end you’ll make me believe you have a heart!” she teased him, making him smile even wider.

“Maybe I have one. And maybe it just beats for my girls.”

Skye laughed out loud, throwing her head back.

“Oh, my God! You are terribly corny!” She nuzzled Haylie’s neck. “Isn’t daddy awfully corny, baby?”

Grant just chuckled, then leaned close and kissed her, embracing Skye and sandwiching the giggling baby between them.

Her life might not have been always perfect – sometimes it was far from that. But she wouldn’t change what she had now for the world.


	12. Strange Afterglow (Skyeward)

_Things you said after it was over_

He falls over the edge – his body going rigid, his mind going blissfully blank, pleasure erupting in every cell of his body. After that, he barely has the presence of mind not to collapse on top of her, but somehow he manages, falling on the mattress right next to her, having a hard time catching his breath.

And then Skye starts giggling.

Actually giggling, with her hand on her mouth, her eyes crinkling.

“What?” he asks, suddenly brought back to Earth from the heavens, pushing himself up to his elbows.

“Nothing, it’s just…” the rest of her sentence is drowned by her giggles.

He frowns. Okay, this cannot be a good sign. Also, it does not sit well with his confidence – let alone his ego. He has always prided himself of being a good lover – at least every previous encounter of his seemed to confirm this allegation. And now to think that he just gave a subpar performance – that had her _giggling_ – to the only person who really mattered, doesn’t sit him well at all.

“Did you not… like it?” he inquires almost shyly.

Skye stops in an instant. Her giggles die, she lowers her hand from her mouth, and, her eyes going wide, she looks at him.

“You think that I…?” Her sentence unfinished, she closes her eyes for a second – and the next she was kissing him.

“I loved it,” she says once she pulled away from his mouth. “You were amazing,” she continues, punctuating every word with a kiss pressed against different parts of his face. “So, so amazing. The best I have ever had. And right now I am so _happy_ that I giggle. Because you make me so happy, you big dork.”

It actually has him smiling with that wide, goofy grin she always brings out of him. He takes her face in his hands to steady her, then kisses her deeply, with all the passion he can muster.

“If you loved it that much,” he says when he runs out of breath and has to break the kiss, “do you care for an encore?”

The answer is there in the mischievous glint of her eyes as she straddles him the next moment. 


	13. The Thirty-Sixth Hour (Philinda)

_Things you said through your teeth_

Skye doesn’t regain consciousness for nearly two days after being injected with the GH-325 – and during these two days Phil barely leaves her side, sitting next to her bed with such a regret written on his face that Melinda’s heart nearly breaks.

She loses it thirty-six hours in.

She all but marches into the med pod and firmly places her hand on his shoulder. It makes him look at her, his gaze exhausted, and not just from the hours spent awake.

“Snap out of it!” she tells him through clenched jaws, maybe a little louder than it’s appropriate in a sickroom. “She’s alive. She’s getting better. She’ll be alright.”

“You can’t know that,” he answered, his voice barely above whisper. “You didn’t see what I saw…”

“And I don’t care!” she grabs both of his shoulders, turning him towards her. “I don’t care what horrors you think you saw until it means that you and Skye are here and alive and well. Because you are well – you shouldn’t be, you should be dead, but you are not. And she will be well, too. And until the two of you are alive and healthy, you won’t hear a bad word from me. And you know why? Because I don’t think I could live without you.”

His gaze doesn’t waver for a moment, but the corner of his mouth actually twitches.

“Thank you, Melinda.”

She doesn’t say a word, simply gives him a small nod, then leaves the room.

Skye wakes up six hour later, shaken up, but lucid, coherent, seemingly coming out unscathed from her near death experience. As the team gathers around her bed to welcome her back, Phil and Melinda’s eyes meet for a moment. And they smile. 


	14. Watch, Observe, Fall in Love (Skyeward)

_Things you said while we were driving_

Ward makes observations about people – that’s how he stays alive, and, well, he likes it. Especially when he finds the person he observes interesting.

And he doubts he has ever met a person more interesting than Skye. There are so many facets of her he wants to learn, deep, important, intimate facets, but for now, he’ll make peace with little things – like how she behaves in the car.

Surprisingly, she is not that good with driving – he has kind of expected her to be a skilled driver, after living in her van for so long. But no – she’s is way too cautious, way too slow. She would be dead in a car chase within five minutes.

And she talks, mostly to herself, or to the car, about things that are happening around her.

“Please, remain green, please…” she’d plead as approaching the traffic lamps.

“Oh, I see it’s a luxury to use indicators,” she would mumble when somebody would turn in front of her without showing intent first.

“Where’s the rush? So eager to die?” she’d snark when she’s see people going over the speed limit without apparent reason.

And it amuses to him to no end.

She is different when in the passenger seat.

She is terrible with the map. She when she navigates, she keeps turning it around, always losing North, getting tangled up in the paper, until a point where she can’t even refold it properly. She is better, of course, with the GPS – she has that up and running seamlessly within second. And she is even better with asking for direction – mostly because everybody seems to love her. (Or he is just biased.)

She sings in the car. If either of them turns on the radio, chances are she’ll be singing along with the song within five minutes. He doesn’t even mind it – she has an angelic voice, even if he’d never admit it to her face. But he has a feeling she knows – because he often finds himself smiling when she sings.

She loves gazing out of the window in silence, too, with a dreamy look on her face, until she sees something particularly interesting that has her talking.

“Have you seen that dog, Ward? I swear it was dressed up like Elvis, with a wig and everything. There are strange people on Earth – people who shouldn’t be allowed to keep dogs.”

“One of my foster families used to live in an apartment complex like this. They weren’t that bad… they were just super religious. Not like the nuns, but in an obsessed kind of way. It was weird, and I didn’t really like it. Especially when my foster brother – their biological kid – said he was superior to me because he was a boy. I showed him who was really superior, though.”

“Do you see how pretty the sky is, Grant? I wish I had a camera with me. It’s just simply gorgeous. Do you think it’ll rain?”

And then sometimes she’d sleep, curled up on the seat, looking even smaller than anyways, looking completely adorable. And he knows that when this happens, he should be glad for the temporary silence, because God, she really talks much.

But he isn’t – because as soon as she falls asleep, he is missing her voice, her presence, her laugh. Because there are still so many sides of her he wants to learn. What she does in the car is just a page of the enormous book that is her, a page he doesn’t even know by heart yet, but he it makes him want to learn the whole book, from the first line to the last.


	15. Vivid Imagination (Skyeward)

_Things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear_

Although it was somewhat in a spy’s job description, Grant Ward wasn’t that fond of listening on in other people’s conversations – especially when he considered these “other people” friends, and when they were talking about him.

But still, sometimes it happened – for example when he just went down to the lab to ask FitzSimmons if they had seen the mission report from last week’s op.

He was just about to enter the lab from the avionics bay when he heard her voice.

“…I just wish he had an idea how hard it is to concentrate during training…”

He stopped in his tracks right away, hand hovering in the air in front of the door. Of course. Skye. Complaining about training once again.

“…I mean, does he have any idea how distracting he is?”

Okay, this was… strange. Him, distracting? In what sense? After brief hesitation, he let his hand drop, and decided to keep listening.

“…With those arms… Have you seen his biceps?”

It was… odd, to say at least. He kind of expected her to complain about his methods, and now she was… She was distracted by _him_? By his _biceps_? Meaning… Meaning she was attracted to him?

“Yes…” he heard Simmons sigh, and her voice sounded almost… dreamy? “They’re very…”

“Perfect?” Skye supplied, and it almost made him snort. “Now try to concentrate on the proper form when those arms around you. And that firm chest against your back. And then he speaks and…” Skye’s sentence ended with a groan. “And I’m done. I have no idea how long I can last before I do something stupid.”

Something stupid, as in?

“Like?” Simmons questioned, apparently on the same mental wavelength as him.

“Like… Tackling him to the ground and kissing him senseless. Or grinding him when he’s standing behind me. Run my tongue down his chest? Or simply jump his bones. Oh, I know – drag him to the back corridor and suck him off. Or let him eat me out. Or just simply ride him against the wall. Honestly, I’ll be happy with any of these options at this point.”

Grant tried to swallow – it didn’t really work. Mostly because he also had a rather visual and vivid imagination, and the things Skye’d just said, added to his already existing late night fantasies featuring her…

Let’s just say that his pants were suddenly becoming rather uncomfortable, and finding that report was crossed from his to do list at once. Instead he decided to return to his bunk and… think about the things Skye’d said some more.  

And then he’d come up with some way to make both of their fantasies reality.


	16. Let the Mountains Stand Witness (Skyeward)

_Things you said when we were on top of the world_

His hand in hers, she drags him through the courtyards of this strange place – what was the exact name again? Lai Shi? –, eager to show him something.

She came here barely a week ago – although it seemed a lot longer to him –, because of a promise that the people here would help her with her newfound powers. And it looks like they did – even after such a short time, she seems so much less afraid, so much freer, smiling from the heart again, being the girl he feel in love with.

She leads him out of the residential area, away from the disapproving gazes (even if he’s here on her request, and with permission from above, the people here are not so welcoming towards a mere human), to an old, red archway standing the edge of a cliff, overlooking a great valley and an even greater mountain behind it.

“It’s not simply earthquakes,” she explains him in an excited tone. “It’s vibrations. Jiaying – she’s my mentor, you should meet her, she’s really nice – says it’s all about the vibrations. That everything vibrates, and I can tap into that. And there’s a whole world of possibilities to use it for, and it doesn’t even have to be destructive, but I’m still just starting out, but look, look, what I can do!” She is almost bouncing on her feet as, still holding onto him with one hand, she outstretches the other towards the mountain and closes her eyes in concentration.

What happens the next moment makes his jaw drop.

The snow on the mountains first starts to tremble, then begins to stumble down in great waves, casting white mist over the mountainside.

The whole thing doesn’t last more than a minute or two; when it’s over, she looks at, expectantly, waiting for him to say something – but all she sees is him gaping at the mountain, eyes wide. She lets his hand drop and takes a step back, suddenly shy and withdrawn.

“It’s more than this, of course…” she says, trying to sound cheery and nonchalant at once, but gives a weak performance. “My powers… they can be used for more than this. Not just for destruction. But I’m just starting to learn what I can do, and… I swear it’s not just destroying things… Please, don’t be–“

He doesn’t let her finish the sentence. He grabs her face with both hands and kisses her with all the love and passion he can muster, caressing her cheekbones with his thumbs. When he breaks the kiss, he rests his forehead against hers, looking into her eyes – her irises glistening with unshed tears.

“You are amazing,” he whispers, letting the mountains stand as his witness.


	17. The Worst of the Worst (Skyeward)

_Things you said when I was crying_

She feels numb, empty – her body, her soul, everywhere.

The world stopped making sense several hours ago.

And there is something tragically ironic about the whole thing – legally speaking, at nineteen weeks, it is still considered a miscarriage. Only it doesn’t feel like that. She went through labor, she gave birth, and they even let her hold the tiny, lifeless body of her baby for a little while.

For all intents and purposes, she had a child.

Only she didn’t have him for a moment.

 _Him_. It would have been a boy.

And it just doesn’t make fucking sense because just days ago everything seemed fine, and everybody told her that everything was fine, and she could feel him moving, and then this morning…

There are fresh tears flowing down her face. She thought she was done crying…

She is vaguely aware of Grant by her side, his head buried in her hair. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t rage or weep, but she has never seen him this helpless, this powerless.

It wasn’t an enemy he could have battled.

At some point Jemma appears by her bedside, taking her hand and talking to her in hushed tones. Her words barely register in her mind.

“I talked to your doctor, and she has no idea what could have caused the… this. But they are going to look into things, and I will, too, but Skye, I honestly think it was a one-time thing, nothing to do with you being Inhuman. I’m sure if you try again, you can have a healthy baby.”

She wants to lash out, but she has just no energy left. She knows Jemma means well, but how could she make her understand that the possibility of having another baby won’t bring her son back? But she just nods in the end, not even trusting her voice. She more like feels than sees Jemma giving her a sad, sympathetic look before she stands up, presses a kiss against the top of her head, gently touches Grant’s shoulder, then leaves without saying anything else.

They discharge her the next morning, saying that she’s alright – physically, she might be. Emotionally? She doesn’t believe she’ll ever be okay.

(Coulson eventually pulls some strings, and gets the hospital give out their baby’s body, so they can properly bury him. It helps – not much, but it does.)


	18. Time Stands Still (Skyeward)

_Things you said when you were crying_

Grant is, by nature, a patient person. Usually he is not bothered by waiting. Not even by standing still for a longer period of time. But now?

Now he would like to check the time every second minute (even though he doesn’t have his wristwatch on), he is unable to remain still, he keeps fidgeting, sneaking peeks behind his back, and just generally wanting to jump out of his skin. He’s been in this state for about the last half hour, ever since Trip walked into his dressing room, stood next to him, put a hand on his shoulder, and with a shit-eating grin he declared: “I have seen her, and man…”

At that moment, he lost even that little sliver of sanity that he had left, and have been barely hanging on ever since.

Because it’s his wedding day, he is standing at the altar and the music can start any minute now, announcing that Skye has started her journey down the aisle.

His heart starts beating even faster at the thought.

To make matters worse, he hasn’t seen Skye since the previous day – for which, of course, he has only himself to blame. He was the one who insisted they did it in the right way, with a white dress, vows, a reception and all – if it were completely up to Skye, they would have signed a paper and be done with it. Only when he said this he didn’t realize that the others would take him seriously – at least not this seriously –, put down their feet, and say that then they should do everything according tradition. Thus not seeing the bride before the wedding. Which sucks. More than he thought it would.

But, he has to admit, the wedding is pretty flawless so far, especially considering that they pulled it together in a little less than three months (doing the wedding in the right way was his condition; not putting it off for a stupid amount of time was Skye’s). As for the venue, Coulson took matters into his own hands, and, making a couple of phone calls, got Tony Stark lend them one of his weekend houses (which was more like a small mansion) in South Carolina – apparently, Iron Man was more than happy to let them use the place as long as he was invited to the party. (Grant has heard some whispers that he also – jokingly or not – expressed his desire to claim the first kiss, but gave up on it when Coulson kindly reminded him the exact skill set of the groom.) Stark went even further than this in helping them – he hired a wedding planner, decorators, caterers (well, that might have been Pepper, but honestly, Grant got lost in the details early on), and in altogether was responsible for the whole thing coming together.

Not that he has a good eye for things like this, but he has to admit that the place looks amazing. They are having the ceremony outside, under the canopy of some old trees, their dark barks contrasted with cream colored drapes – a color that dominates the whole lavish, but not overdone decoration. The dinner will eventually be held inside, with the patio doors left wide open, letting the air in and the people out, allowing them to mingle. It’s a small affair, with less than forty people attendance, but everybody’s here who matters, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nervously, he reaches for his wrist again, realizing halfway through the move that he is still not wearing his watch. As a last save, he clutches his own wrist, crinkling the sleeve of his tux jacket a little. That’s when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, relax!” Fitz tells him with a calm smile. “It’s not like she’s gonna run away.”

Well, he hopes not, but at this point his nearly fried nerves make him almost-believe a lot of things. Like that Skye’d get cold feet. Still, he gives his friend a tights smile, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and tries to calm down.

That’s when the music starts.

He whips around so fast he thinks he hears his spine crack, but he couldn’t care less – because she is there, on Coulson’s arm, now only mere meters from him, and she is breathtaking, and nothing else matters anymore.

He asked her to wear white for him, but beyond that, he never thought what she would chose – and when she did buy her dress, she didn’t tell him about it, just smiled at him teasingly and told him he wasn’t supposed to know. But now he sees it, and especially sees her in it, and he is having a hard time to breathe. The skirt is long, reaching the ground, gradually broadening from the waist until the sweeping hem. There is a sleeveless lace overlay studded with crystals over the bodice, the pattern of the lace reaching down to the skirt. Her hair is up in a careless bun, wild, free tendrils framing her smiling, excited face under the short veil. She is a vision, a goddess on Earth.

Time seems to slow down as she nears the altar, but no matter of the passing seconds, he can still barely believe what he’s seeing, that she is there. With every step she takes his amazement grows, and he feels like falling in love with her again and again with every heartbeat.

When they finally reach him, he can barely keep himself from touching her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her, but he does, waiting for his turn with a smile so wide on his face that his cheeks hurt while Coulson lifts Skye’s veil and kisses her forehead before handing her hand to him.

The moment their fingers touch and she looks up at him, happiness pooling in her eyes, he is done.

“Oh, Robot, don’t you go crying on me now,” she tells him, even though he can see tears forming in her eyes, too. “I can’t have you all rusty.”

He laughs, but she is right – up until now he didn’t even realize that he was crying, even though there are tears streaming down his face. But he can’t help it – he is brimming with love for this woman, and he just can’t wait anymore. Her hands grasped in his, he leans down and captures her lips.

He barely gets a taste before the minister clears his throat and playfully scolds him, “Hold your horses, son, keep some of that energy for tonight!” making the guests laugh and Skye blush. He might feel a little bashful, too. “May we begin?”

He just nods, not really trusting his voice right now, and, not letting go of Skye’s hand for a second, he turns towards the older man.

Up until today, he thought that becoming “the happiest man alive” through marriage was just an empty phase. Now he knows better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know what a pain is showing a wedding dress through a guy’s eyes? I can’t have him saying things like A-line skirt or sweetheart neckline. But I have a pic of the dress if anybody’s interested, and it can be found [here](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/117252675139/oh-btw-heres-the-dress-i-used-as-reference-for)


	19. The Outside World Doesn't Exist (Skyeward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really a Tumblr prompt, but I’m cleansing my system of a couple of short scenes that just won’t leave me alone before I continue working on my longer pieces. Anyway, this one is a little what if – what if Grant decided to pretend the outside world didn’t exist/wasn’t HYDRA to begin with?

After arriving back to Providence from Portland, Coulson was exhausted – emotionally even more so than physically. Seeing Audrey after all this time, yet not really seeing her at all… It hurt more than he’d anticipated. All he wanted now was to catch up with the half of his team that had remained at the base, take a shower, and have some rest – and maybe a scotch. And perhaps after solid eight hours of sleep he could approach the problems at hand with a clearer head. At least he hoped so.

Instructing FitzSimmons and Trip to put away their equipment, then get some rest themselves, he set off towards the lounge/control center, expecting to find his agents there. May was without doubt taking charge, Ward was never one to sit idly aside, and he had a strong guess that wherever those two were, he’d find Skye as well.

Only just before he could have reached the door, he was stopped by Koenig.

“I wouldn’t advise you to go in there, sir,” he warned Coulson in a somewhat nervous manner, earning a raised eyebrow from the senior agent.

“I’m just looking for Agent May, Agent Koenig.”

“Eric.”

“Eric,” Coulson conceded.

“Agent May is not in there,” Eric said, looking a tad uncomfortable. “She left, hours ago.”

“What?” Coulson reached up to loosen his tie. “Where?”

Eric visibly fought the urge to throw his arms open in a helpless gesture.

“She didn’t say. All I know is she has some business to attend. I tried to speak to her, but since she’s been through orientation I had no–“

Coulson raised his hand to stop him.

“Alright, I get it.” He let out a sigh. “But Ward’s still here?”

“Of course.”

“Where?”

Eric’s eyes momentarily flickered towards the closed door of the lounge.

“But I don’t advise you going in there.”

That was the point when Coulson really started to lose his patience – but before he could have voiced this to Eric, Trip came around the corner.

“What’s happening here?” he asked, looking from one man to the other.

“Nothing – I was just telling Agent Coulson here that–“

Using Eric’s momentary distraction, Coulson sidestepped him and reached for the door, readying himself for whatever waited for him on the other side of the door – honestly, after this little interlude, he was ready for anything and everything.

Well, except for this.

The room was completely still and, save for the soft whirring of the computers, silent, bathed in the ambient glow of the digital fireplace. And on the couch, there were Skye and Ward, sleeping peacefully – Ward on his back, head propped up on the headrest, his arms around Skye, whose cheek was pillowed on his chest.

Coulson stopped at once.

So this was Eric was trying to keep from him.

“Oh… It’s better than I expected,” Coulson heard Eric’s hushed voice from behind him, gradually getting closer – apparently, he’d followed him inside.

“Better?” Came Trip’s confused question.

“They could have been… naked,” Eric answered, making Coulson turn towards him, his eyebrows pulled together. Eric cleared his throat. “I stepped out for a few minutes to attend to some matters, and when I returned, Agents Skye and Ward were engaging in an act that would fall under the fraternization clause…” Sensing both Coulson and Trip’s narrowed gazes, he stopped and rephrased the sentence: “They were making out, sir. I thought it would be the best if they were left alone. They haven’t left the room ever since.”

Trip let out a little, snorting laugh, then turned to leave the room, shaking his head with a smile on his face. Coulson, on the other hand, simply turned back towards the couch, and let his gaze linger on the scene in front of him for a couple of moments, a small smile creeping to his face.

He stepped to the couch, lifted the blanket from the back of it, and covered the sleeping agents with it. Neither of them stirred, although Skye gave out a little, content sigh, burrowing her face deeper into Ward’s chest, prompting a small chuckle from Coulson. He knew he should have disapproved the developments in his agents’ relationship, but honestly, it was so good to see this little sliver of happiness amidst all this mess, he just wanted to preserve it.

“Let’s leave them alone,” he told Eric softly. “The debrief can wait until tomorrow – all of us are exhausted.” He led Koening out of the room and closed the door behind them – but not before taking one last look at the sleeping couple.


	20. Games We Play on the Couch (Skyeward)

The first time it happens, it annoys him.

They are having a lazy afternoon, staying at a S.H.I.E.L.D. base in South Africa with nothing to do, really, other than waiting for their next mission, so he grabs the book he’s currently reading, and settles in the lounge, taking a seat at the end of the couch.

He has about ten peaceful minutes before Skye appears.

She doesn’t say a word – not even a hello –, just, with her tablet in her hand, she sits down on the opposite end of the couch. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding – seems like she’ll let him to get lost in the world of his novel, something he’s grateful for. It’s not like he doesn’t like her – it’s just that sometimes she’s a little too much. And right now, he needs some quiet.

Five minutes after joining him, she changes position, turning sideways, resting against the armrest, and pulling her feet up to the couch, her knees bent. He gives her a sideways glace, but that’s it; she seems just as absorbed by her tablet as he is by his book. At least as absorbed as he pretends to be.

Five more minutes pass, and she makes her move: straightening first her left leg, she boldly places her foot in his lap. He stops reading for a moment, just to witness as she repeats the process with her right. He raises an eyebrow at her, but her face is hidden by the table, so she doesn’t see it – or at least pretends no to see it.

He dips his head backwards, looking at the ceiling for one, two, three seconds, then grabs her ankles and places her feet back on the couch. She doesn’t react in any way – not even with a scoff.

For two minutes, he can return to his novel.

The next moment her feet are, once again, in his lap.

This time he lets out a sigh before putting her feet back to where they belong.

Two minutes later they are back in his lap, without her saying a word.

They play two more rounds of this before he gives up. Letting out a long breath he decides that this position is not even that uncomfortable. And anyway, letting her have her way makes him the bigger man. Sort of. And anyway, who cares? It’s not like it means anything.

(His gaze forcefully glued to the pages, he misses Skye’s triumphant smirk.)

***

The second time it happens, he takes it with resignation.

It’s almost exactly like the last time, only now it happens in Argentina, and with shorter playtime – now it takes her less than three minutes to get from sitting down next to him to putting her feet in his lap. Also, this time he doesn’t try to get rid of them.

No, he just looks at her and somehow she feels it – she lowers her glossy magazine and looks at him with twinkling eyes.

“Hi,” she says, smirking.

“Hi,” he answers, pointing at her feet. “Do you mind?”

She does the pouty-considering thing with her lips, then shakes her head and says, “No, not at all.”

The she continues reading, her feet still firmly placed in his lap.

He doesn’t even try to fight her.

***

The third time he starts to wonder.

Not about big things like why he is letting her do this at all (maybe because he likes it), but about small thing.

Like that she has tiny feet. Like, ridiculously tiny. And it’s cute – it actually should alarm him that he finds her feet cute, but they really are adorable, especially in those rainbow socks with the individual fingers for her toes. And she has slim ankles – graceful ones, that are, he’s sure, would look great in stilettos. Also, her calves are great – shapely and strong, and he kind of wants to run his hands along them.

But he is not ready to cross that line yet. So he just keeps admiring her feet while pretending to read his book.

(Later that night he vaguely laments if he has some kind of a foot fetish, then decides that it’s more like a Skye fetish.)

***

By the fourth time, it becomes almost like a second nature.

When she sits down next to him, he is already lifting his arms a little to give her space. And when she does finally put her feet in his lap, one of his hands almost automatically moves to her right one, absent-mindedly starting massage it, while he keeps reading – he is good at multitasking, after all.

After hitting a particularly sensitive spot in her instep, she lets out a tiny moan – which shouldn’t affect him as much as it does –, and lowers the file she’s been reading.

“I don’t know where you’ve picked it up,” she tells him, “but keep doing it. It feels amazing.”

His only response to her words is just a tiny smile, but then he spends the next twenty minutes with giving extra attention to that spot – on both or her feet –, just to see if he can elicit more of this tiny, mesmerizing moan from her, while pretending that he is not painfully aware of her eyes fixed on him.

***

It becomes sort of a tradition for them after this.

There is one time when they vary this ceremony a little.

They are watching a movie in the lounge, him, Skye and FitzSimmons, and Skye starts off with simply sitting next to him. Then she places her head on his shoulder. Then it slides down to his biceps.  And then it somehow ends up pillowed on his thigh, her hand softly rubbing his knee. He doesn’t even think about it, just starts playing with her hair, his eyes still glued to the screen – twirling a lock around his pinkie, burying his fingers in her waves, caressing her scalp.

He does it until she completely relaxes and falls asleep hallway through the movie.

(Simmons takes a picture of them, one he later gets for himself and sets as the wallpaper of his phone.)

***

Around the umpteenth times, she starts to play dirty.

It starts like any other time, with him reading, her lying next to him and placing her feet in his lap. Only, this time, before he could start his massage, she starts hers.

Flexing her foot downwards, she starts rubbing her toes against his thigh. He stops reading in an instant and looks at her with raised eyebrows – and all he gets as an answer is a wicked little smirk and a tiny shrug, as her foot starts wandering upwards.

His breathing stops for a moment as her foot skirts along his inseam, forcing itself between his thighs. He wonders for a moment if he should stop her, but it feels so damn good, so he simply puts his book down, closes his eyes and lets his head fall back as her toes play with the junction of his thigh.

But when she finds his hardening member and rubs it gently, teasingly, he loses it.

He grabs her ankles and pulls her up and towards himself, until she is kneeling with her legs on either side of his thighs, straddling him, grinding her center against his erection, and presses a hot, frenzied kiss to her lips before she could give out more than a little, surprised squeal. With his tongue thrusting into her mouth – a promise of what’s to come – he grabs her ass and stands up, and with her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, he starts walking towards his bunk.

He loves that couch and what they do it; but he loves his bed and what she does in it more.


	21. Advice of the Wounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little S1 AU that shamelessly denies May and Ward’s hook up. Or that one time May recognizes the bond between Ward and Skye, and decides to do something to help them move forward.

Melinda May is an observant person – even beyond the level that comes with the territory of being a specialist. It might stem from having been married to a psychologist for years, or it could a trait she was born with, she isn’t sure. Nevertheless, she has a habit of observing people, not only whether they pose a threat or carry a gun, but also how they act in general – their little habits, the little tells of their body language.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that she notices early on that something is going on between Ward and his new trainee.

She sees it all, although it is so subtle she doubts anybody else has picked it up. She sees that when he shows Skye a new move, Ward keeps his hands on her just a fraction of a second longer than necessary. She sees how he stares at her when she is not looking. She sees how he turns towards her the moment he hears her voice. She sees how he listens, hanging on her every word, whenever she speaks.

Grant Ward is in the deep, and it annoys May beyond words – not because the man is clearly falling in love, no; she’s been there, done that, she knows how it is, and she is not about to judge Ward for it. No, what bothers – angers – her is that Ward is obviously trying to suppress it, act like there’s nothing going on with him and Skye (because the saddest thing in the whole ordeal is that it is plain as the day that his affections are requited – although Skye is not yet as far gone as he is).

Of course it’s not something that she is unfamiliar with, either – the job often makes specialists distance themselves from other people; makes them believe that they can’t forge real relationships. And some cases it is true, but in others it’s just a mistake that makes them lonely and keeps them away from happiness.

And Melinda is almost completely sure that Ward belongs to the former category – to the disillusioned people, who only need a push to the right direction.

Thankfully, she is really good at pushing people.

***

Melinda May is not somebody to avoid or postpone things – if something has to be done, it has to be done, and it’s better for everybody if you get through with it. So, in this mentality, she grabs the first opportunity to stuff some sense into Ward.

Her chance comes when they are alone in the cargo hold one Monday morning, doing equipment inventory and assessment. One moment, she is noting down the amount of dendrotoxin bullets they have left, the next she is taking a deep breath, and then she talks.

“I was married once,” she starts without any preamble, voice so calm and matter-of-fact as if she was just telling him they have to request more flash grenades from HQ.

Ward stiffens for a fraction of a second – that’s all the visible reaction he gives –, then continues sorting through the contents of a drawer full of weapons.

“Okay,” he says, without even looking at her.

“For eight years,” she continues, as if it was completely normal for her to make idle, personal chit-chat during work. “He was a psychologist – consulted a lot for S.H.I.E.L.D., mostly on cases with gifted people, that’s how we met.”

Ward just nods and hums in agreement, still avoiding looking at her – whether it stems from that he doesn’t yet realized it’s all directed at him with a purpose, or that he knows it just well and doesn’t want to acknowledge it, she is not sure. Regardless, she continues.

“And they were the best years on my life.” She puts down the tablet she had been holding, and completely turns towards the younger agent. “I had a home to retreat to after a mission, and a person there who completely understood and supported me, and it made all the difference in the world. And I was happy.” She closes her eyes for a moment, the memories rushing back to her making it hard to breathe. “We were going to start a family – I was going to stay in the field, but we had it all figured out.” Her right hand clenches into a fist.

“It still crashed in the end,” Ward says quietly, his eyes still fixed on the weapons.

“Because of Bahrain – not particularly because of the job. We worked around me being a specialist just well. And trauma can happen to anybody, not just to S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.”

Ward goes rigid and closes his eyes for a moment, the strain evident on his face. He knows exactly what she is talking about.

“May–“

“I am only telling you this because I want you to know that being a specialist and having a meaningful, fulfilling relationship are not mutually exclusive. It takes some work, but you can have both. And it is worth it.” She doesn’t add _please, don’t turn out to be like me. Please, don’t let the pain drive you away from the people who care about you_. She just stands up, picks up the tablet, and stands in front of him until he looks into her eyes. “All I ask is that you think about what I just said. Think long and hard, and decide for yourself what you want. But I’d hate to see you miss out on something that could make you happy because you are afraid, or because you live in a lie.” And with that she turns around and leaves Ward behind, hoping that she has managed to make her point.

***

Later that day when she sees him and Skye sitting by the window, playing some board game and laughing like children, and she catches Ward’s eyes for a moment, and sees a silent _thank you_ in them, she knows she has.


	22. The First Picture

Lance crossed his eyes and turned the photo around once again.

“I still can’t make it out.”

Fitz, sitting next to him, sighed loudly – he just didn’t get why was it so hard to make sense of –, plucked the picture from Lance, turned it back, the shoved it back into Hunter’s hand.

“Try this way,” he said impatiently.

Lance’s eyes went comically wide, and his lips formed a little O.

“I see…” He lifted his gaze from the picture and, with feigned innocence, he said, “Ward, it looks just like you!”, making Fitz snort into his beer.

To his luck, Ward was in a too goofy-good mood to be bothered by him.

“Not it,” he corrected, walking over to the guys and taking a seat opposite of them in the armchair, “but she.” Then, after a second he added, “or he.” He opened his beer, twisting the cap off. “And she – or he – doesn’t look like me. He or she doesn’t look like anybody yet.”

“No, but look,” Lance insisted, turning the picture towards Ward. “He or she has a big head, just like you!”

When a cushion flew towards him with deadly accuracy, Lance knew he went a little too far, but he just laughed it off.

“Sorry, mate,” he said, still chuckling, and handed the cushion back. Ward, too happy to even act like he was annoyed, instead of taking it, leaned forward, and pulled the photo from Hunter. Then, not that he hadn’t had it completely memorized by then, he gazed lovingly at the grainy, black-and-white picture.

“It’s just so surreal,” he said, unable to wipe the dopey grin off his face. True, much couldn’t yet be seen on the photo, apart from the head and the torso and the tiny limb-buds, but in his hand there was the palpable evidence that inside of Skye’s yet barely there bump there was a little life, a would-be person forming. A baby with a steady whoosh-whoosh of a heartbeat he had heard today, who was just three inches right now, but just kept growing and growing. He raised his head to look into his friend’s eyes. “I’m going to be a dad.”

Hunter nodded and, for the lack of better word, smiled proudly at Ward.

“That you are,” he said, taking a sip from his beer. “But your kid still looks like an alien.”

This time it was Fitz who hit him with a cushion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my friends and his fiancée are expecting their first baby now, and she had her first ultrasound yesterday, and my friend sent over the picture almost right away, so I have a pic of a three inch baby in my FB inbox, and you expect me not to have (Skyeward) baby feels?


	23. Game of Life (Skyeward)

**Game of Life**

Although he was a bit startled when, completely out of the blue, Skye grabbed his shoulder and started leading him somewhere, Grant didn’t resist her, but simply let her guide him to the conference table and push him down into a chair, in front her laptop.

“May I ask what we are doing?” he said cautiously, looking at her face as she tapped the touchpad, calling the blank screen to life. They had been slowly rebuilding trust in the last few weeks since he had been let back to the on probation (with compulsory get-togethers with May ex-husband), but they were still far from how they had used to be, and Skye making a move like this put him on edge a little.

“Think of it as a therapy session,” she said, pushing a couple of buttons. “An anger management kinda thing?” She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I hear you have some closure issues, so I thought of a way to work with that.” The computer finally behaving the way she wanted, she stood and said, “You are going to kill your brother.”

Her sentence so stunned him that for a moment he just sat there, gaping at her, trying to reconcile what she had just said with how cheerfully she said it, and it took him a couple of beats the register that all the while she was pointing at the laptop screen. He swallowed and turned towards the computer – only to face the digital rendering of a barren room and inside it a man who, no joking there, actually kind of looked like Christian.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, leaning closer to the screen.

“It’s called Sims,” Skye explained. “It’s a game – you create characters and play with them, live their lives, but the creators have some sick sense of humor, so you can just kill off your characters. It’s kinda fun, actually, and I though…” she sighed. “I thought it would help you release some of the anger you have, without actually hurting somebody. And the best thing is: this way you can kill him different ways, as many times as you want.” To her credit, Skye actually said this with a smile on her face.

This idea was actually… appealing. Encouraged by her warm approach, he smiled back at her.

“Can you show me how?”

In the following twenty minutes Skye taught him how to kill game-Christian by drowning him in the pool, setting him on fire, and, typing in some command, by having an asteroid falling on him. Watching the little 3D model die was actually, well, not exactly calming, but fun, in a twisted way.

“Could we do this with others as well?” he asked after some time – sadly, he had some demons he would have liked to kill.

“Sure,” Skye nodded, then glanced at her watch. “Look, I have some stuff to attend to, so I’ll just show you how to create a character so you can move forward, then let you have your fun, alright?”

“So you don’t mind if I…” he gestured vaguely towards the laptop.

“Oh, no, knock yourself out. Just don’t delete the game – either on purpose or by mistake” she teased, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

True to her word, she brought up another page in the game, with a male character standing in front of full-length mirror on one side, and a bunch of options to change his appearance on the other side. Skye explained how to mold the character and what to do when he was done, then left him to his own devices.

He really got started on a character that was supposed to be resemble Garrett, but his mind wandered. He really didn’t want to recall his memories of his former mentor – he needed something positive in his life, or at least that was what Andrew always told him. So, why not play around with the most positive thing in his life – Skye? He found the button to change the character’s gender, and started working on his little digital-Skye. After twenty minutes of tweaking around (he just couldn’t quite grasp her eyes and nose) and naming her (the game insisted he gave her a last name, too, so he typed Ward, because why not?), he decided that she shouldn’t be alone, and started working on his own Sims-version (albeit he put a lot less work into him). Then, just like Skye had told him, he put them on an empty lot.

This was when the fun really started –Skye had told him that the game’s real purpose was to imitate life, so there had to be a lot more to it than killing off characters. Tentatively, he clicked on Skye’s digital version, and, lo and behold, a whole list of options appeared. He read them through, then chose “chat”, as it seemed harmless enough. Then he watched as Sims-him went over to Sims-Skye, and they started talking, wildly gesticulating all the time. It was kinda ridiculous, but he liked it, so he clicked again and chose another option. This time Sims-Skye angrily stormed away. It was funny, so he kept going on, trying out option after option, noticing how Sims-Skye’s behavior changed with time. It amazed him, absorbing him into the world of the game so much that he didn’t even realize Skye had returned until she put her hand on his shoulder.

“Whatcha up to, Robot?”

Grant was startled by her question, and answered without thinking.

“I’m flirting with you,”

Hearing this, first the corner ofher  mouth twitched, then she doubled over laughing. (Good; at least she didn’t seem to be mad at him.)

“Great job,” she patted his shoulder, while wiped her eyes with her other hand. “Tell me when we have kids, okay?” And with that she turned around to leave.

It took her words a moment to sink in, but when they did, he called after her.

“You can have kids in the game? How?”

Skye stopped in her tracks, her shoulders trembled a little – as if she was chuckling to herself –, then turned back, pulled up a chair, sat down next to him and stretched her fingers.

“Now, listen closely, young padawan, because I’ll only say this once. First of all, you’ll need a house…”

And this is the story how Grant Ward, super spy and former HYDRA sleeper, played Sims with Skye through the whole night, becoming completely addicted to the silly game.


	24. Good Drugs (Skyeward)

“Hey, Robot,” Skye’s voice breaks through the mist fogging his mind. “Good morning!”

With considerable effort, he opens his eyes, just to see her smile down at him, elbows resting on the edge of his bed. Damn, she looks beautiful.

“What…” he starts, but his throat dry, scratchy. Almost immediately there’s a straw in front of him; he sips at the water gratefully, the cool liquid soothing him, then he clears his throat and tries again. “What happened?”

“You were shot,” she replies, reaching out to sweep a lock of hair away from his forehead. “You lost a lot of blood, and had us worried for a moment, but you doc says you’ll be good as new in no time.”

He feels weary, exhausted, but sort of giddy, and he just can’t keep himself from smiling at her.

“And you’ve been here with me, waiting for me to wake up?” The words are out before he could think them over, and some tiny part of his brain is nagging him that he shouldn’t have said that, but he just doesn’t care.

She smiles back at him, and he can’t tell she’s struggling not to laugh – he doesn’t exactly get why, but he doesn’t even bother, because she’s so damn pretty when she smiles.

“Yeah,” she replies. “I wanted to see how loopy the drugs would make you.”

Oh; he’s on pain meds. Of course, it explains everything – the absence of pain despite the gunshot wound, the giddiness, and that he doesn’t seem to have control over what he’s saying.

“I see,” he drawls. “I guess very loopy.”

This finally breaks her and she laughs out loud.

“Very, very loopy.” She squeezes his hand. “But loopy Ward is adorable.”

He wants to chuckle with her, but instead he finds himself saying “Well, you’re always adorable – not just when you’re loopy. And you are so, so beautiful, I just…” He closes his eyes for a moment. “…I should just stop talking.”

She actually bows her head, her forehead touching the back of his hand, her shoulder shaking with suppressed laughter.

“No, no, you really should continue,” she tells him, raising her head once again, looking into his eyes – damn, she has beautiful eyes. Like dark chocolate. “I just wish I had a camera with me to record it.”

“And I wish…” His gaze wanders to her lips. “I wish I could kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

A part of him – a more sober part – expects her to laugh at him, but instead her amused grin turns into a warm smile. She doesn’t say a thing as she stands up and leans over him. His heart skips a beat – he is pretty sure he can even hear the heart monitor fall out of rhythm –, fully expecting her to grant his whish and kiss him, but then her lips press against his forehead instead of his mouth.

It takes him a considerable amount of willpower not to pout or whine.

“Let’s get back to it when you can take full responsibility for your actions again,” she says once she stands up. “I’ll go now, tell Coulson and the others that you’re up.”

“But it’s not off the table?” he asks from her retreating form. She turns back from the door.

“Not at all. I mean as long as you don’t seduce any nurses while I’m gone.”

He smiles like an idiot as she leaves the room, already imagining how that half-promised kiss from her would feel. (Okay, he really is on good drugs.)


	25. Wall of Valor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little scene came to me when I saw a gifset about that Wall of Valor scene in seeds. I simply had to write it. I’m not sorry.

**S** etting up the Triskelion again – restoring S.H.I.E.L.D. to its former glory, the way it should have been – is no small feast, especially since it looks like everybody seems to find her if they have the smallest problem, let it be anything from a glitch in the mainframe to the lack of staplers in administration, so Skye feels like she’s been running solely on caffeine and sheer determination in the last few days.

And yet, she still finds five spare minutes on Tuesday morning to stand in front of the newly erected wall of valor in the lobby, honoring their dead. It’s so much bigger than the one she once saw at the Academy, such a long time ago, in a different era – but then again, that one didn’t have to list all the great men and women who fell when HYDRA rose. That one didn’t have the names so many of people she knew, either.

She steps closer, her gaze darting around, looking for familiar names.

_Agent Robert Gonzales_

Her mother’s first victim. She never liked the man, but still, he didn’t deserve this fate.

_Agent Isabel Hartley_

Dead mostly because Coulson and Gonzales’s stupid communication problems. If only they sorted out their differences in the beginning.

_Agent Victoria Hand_

She still feels bitter about the woman, but that doesn’t mean she wished her this fate.

_Agent Antoine “Trip” Triplett_

Sweet, gentle Trip, dead because he wanted to save her. Still a day doesn’t pass by without her remembering his smile.

The last name she looks for she finds in the far corner of the wall, and when she spots it, she traces the golden lettering with her fingers, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

_Agent Grant Douglas Ward_

“Hey, Robot,” she whispers to the wall, as if he could hear her. “I have no idea where you are, but I just want you to know, I’m proud of you.”


	26. Ada and the Dog (Skyeward)

It rarely happened anymore that Skye got mad at Grant – surprisingly, he excelled as a husband –, but sometimes he still did stupid things that pissed her off, and then – well, let’s just say that she hadn’t lost her ability to hold a grudge yet.

And he did it again.

He brought home a dog.

Sure, they had been talking about getting a dog, like at an undecided point in the future, but not now, never _now_ , because first they had a surprise baby, then they moved to D.C. when the Triskelion re-opened, then she was pregnant again, and now they had a toddler and a baby, and he brought home a dog. A white, spotted, pit bull-like mutt puppy, who seemed to over-eager to smell everything. Okay, so he was cute, downright adorable, even, but they so not needed a dog right now.

Thus, Grant was in trouble, and as far as she was concerned, he could get used to the idea of sleeping on the couch for a couple of days.

And yet, she didn’t tell him to take the dog back – she wasn’t that heartless. (But she hadn’t told him that the dog can stay, either.)

And okay, the dog was cute – but way too active, and even though he was small now, he was going to grow big, and she wasn’t sure it was a good idea to have it near the kids. Ada was only two months old, for heaven’s sake.

She even voiced her concern to Grant – tried to reason with him –, but he only shrugged.

“You are worrying over nothing, Skye,” he told her, moving to embrace her, but she stepped away. “He is completely harmless. And I’ll train him – he’ll be a perfectly behaving dog, I promise.”

“But if not…” she warned, this time letting him put his arms around her.

“He will.” He kissed her forehead. “He’ll be the most harmless, most child-friendly dog you can imagine.”

She still had her doubts, of course, and kept an eye on the dog.

And damn Grant. Of course he turned out to be right.

It was the second day of the dog’s stay with them, and she was outside on the back porch, watching over Haylie as she played in the sandbox, with Ada close to her on the floor in her carrier, while the dog kept sniffing around them, his tail wagging.

She turned her eyes away from Ada for a moment, watching Haylie shovel sand into a plastic bucket with a grin on her face – she really should have had her camera with her –, and when she turned back, the dog was sniffing at her baby’s feet.

Skye stiffened for a second, a moment away from snatching up the dog and tossing him away from Ada, but then he gave a little yelp, his tail started swinging from side to side with an even greater velocity, then, putting his front paws on the edge of the seat, he jumped up next to Ada, nuzzled against the grinning baby’s face, and finally settled down next her. He looked up from there at Skye, his tail drumming against the cushioning, as if to say “see? I’m happy here,” then rested his head next to Ada’s and closed his eyes.

Okay, so it might have been one of the cutest things she’d ever seen.

A pair of strong arms embraced her from behind.

“Still afraid of the dog?” Grant murmured into her ear.

She leaned against him.

“No,” she admitted reluctantly.

“So he can stay?” His lips gently grazed the sensitive skin of her neck. Damn him.

“Alright…” she sighed.

“And I’m forgiven?”

“Well,” she turned around in his arms. “Maybe you should work on that a little more.”


	27. Movie Nights, Robots, Lions and Cuddling (Skyeward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owned this for Ticklish-super-spy for a very long time – sorry, darling!

Living on a Bus, in general, was exciting – sometimes nerve-wrecking, even –, with the missions, the adventure, the near-death experiences. But then there were days, sometimes even a week or so, when they had absolutely nothing to do, other than wait for a new directive from HQ. And during those times, Skye had to find a way to amuse herself. Thankfully, she was a very inventive person.

Her favorite game these days was “let’s see how much Ward missed from pop culture” – she’d list books, movies, series to her S.O., asking him which ones he was acquainted with. The results were devastating: it turned out that superspy was way behind everything that interested normal human beings. But one of his nos hit her harder than the others for some reason.

“You haven’t seen _The Lion King_?” she asked, bewildered, to which he only shook his head. “But you must have been, what, ten years old when it came out?”

“And?” he asked, shrugging. “What’s the big deal about it?”

“What’s the big­–?” Skye gasped. “This is unacceptable!” She grabbed his arm and started dragging him towards the couch. “We are going to watch it, now,” she stated simply.

Ward didn’t resist – for one thing, he didn’t see why he should have (it wasn’t like he had anything else to do), and for another, she was cute like this, and if him watching some cartoon made her happy, well, then it was the least he could do for her.

And so ten minutes later they were on the couch in the Bus’s lounge, sitting respectable distance from each other, watching Rafiki lift Simba up to air, letting all the animals gathered around Pride Rock see him. Grant had to admit, the animation was, well, cute. The whole film had a happy vibe, and it really amused him to see Simba and Nala ruffle Zazu’s feathers.

But then the stampede came – he really did not expect such an emotional scene in a kids’ movie – and he found himself rubbing his eyes, trying not to shed any tears.

“Aw, look at that,” Skye cooed (because of course she watching him; just like he was watching her), sliding closer to him. “The Tin Man getting teared up.” She settled down right beside him, embracing his arm. “You know, it’s okay to cry.”

This made him chuckle, but other than that, he didn’t react – he didn’t even try to extract himself from her arms. No; he relished in her warm weight against him. Her head eventually pillowed on his shoulder, he felt his body completely relax, all the tension leaving him. He felt like having found his happy place, so moving her felt like the furthest thought from his mind. True, the romantic scene, Simba and Nala’s duet, was a tempting moment, almost too tempting, when he barely found enough willpower in him not to kiss her, but he restrained himself somehow.

Although he did reach for her hand, wrapping their fingers together.

She didn’t pull it away, not even when his thumb started drawing circles on her skin.

The movie ended way too soon; he was not yet ready to let her go. So he cleared his throat and turned to her.

“Does this thing have a sequel? Or something else we could watch?”

Skye flashed him a brilliant smile, knowing exactly where his mind was at.

“I take you liked it?” He nodded timidly – the movie, that he liked; cuddle up to her? He was ecstatic about that. “Well, then in that case…” She pulled herself up, away from him (he might have whined a little), and grabbed the remote. “You are lucky Disney renaissance exists.” And with that she settled back against him, nuzzling against his side happily.

He was lucky indeed.

(He kissed her before the night’s end.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I wanna watch The Lion King...


	28. Mistletoe (Skyeward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written based on [Winter/Christmas drabble prompts](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/134480242594/winterchristmas-prompts)

(He never saw that kiss coming.)

Although he found the family dynamics that characterized their lives on the Bus endearing – albeit sometimes a bit annoying –, he just failed to see the point in decorating the plane for the Holidays – it was not a home (technically, anyway), after all, but an operational base. It should have been practical and functional, not… festive.

(Still, when Fitz asked, he helped to put up the lights in the lounge.)

But his cooperation put aside, the point still remained that they didn’t need fake frost on the cabin windows and tinsel wound around the railings of the shelves and a plastic Christmas tree in the corner with _freaking Captain America baubles_. Honestly, the room looked like Santa’s elves threw up in it (and no, this opinion didn’t make him a Grinch, no matter what _certain_ people said).

“It’s pretty home-y, isn’t it?” Skye asked, appearing suddenly by his side as he stood by the galley counter, his morning coffee in hand, making him turn his scornful attention from the winter wonderlandized lounge to her. But he barely turned to face her – let alone say a word –, when she pushed herself to the tip of her toes, grabbed his chin in one hand, and kissed him.

Full on the mouth.

Then the next moment her lips were gone, and she was grinning up at him gleefully.

“Mistletoe,” she said in explanation, pointing above his head, then – while he looked up – she snatched the mug from his hand, turned around, and left, humming some awful Christmas carol under her breath.

And he just remained standing there, dazed, confused, coffee-less, and heart racing.

(Maybe those Christmas decorations weren’t that bad idea, after all.)


	29. Fireplace (Skyeward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written based on [Winter/Christmas drabble prompts](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/134480242594/winterchristmas-prompts)

He kissed her by the light of a fake fireplace – just a screen with the image of dancing flames – for the second time. The memory is bittersweet at best, tainted by lies and secrets. He doesn’t like to think about it.

But this… this is better.

Just a weekend getaway to the mountains, far from the base and the team and the missions, their phones turned off and the outside world left behind. A simple cabin, built of logs and stones, a place that is just theirs for the weekend. Snowflakes dancing outside of the window, crackling fire and cozy warmth inside. Naked bodies under the heavy blankets in front of the fireplace. Blissed exhaustion, tender smiles. Skye playing with his fingers, his chin on her shoulder. She turns her head and he kisses her.

No lies.

No deception.

Just Skye and Grant, souls bared, in harmony.

In peace.

Yes – this is so much better.

 


	30. Christmas Tree (FitzSimmons)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written based on [Winter/Christmas drabble prompts](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/134480242594/winterchristmas-prompts)

“Guys, you do realize that this is just, you know, a Christmas tree? Not some scientific conundrum you have to solve?” Skye quipped in from the couch, amusement mixing with mild annoyance in her voice.

Fitz simply raised his hand to shush her, not even turning towards her, eyes still fixed on the so far bare tree.

“Skye, please, be quiet now,” he said, scratching his chin. “I still think we should start with the baubles.”

“No,” Jemma shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not. The lights have to go on first, so they can be distributed evenly.”

“Now you are just being unreasonable, Jemma,” he objected. “The lights should be the last item, because–“

“Fitz, would you please start thinking sensibly?” Jemma cut in, slowly losing her temper. “If you put on the lights last, the cords will get caught up in everything. The lights has to go on first, or–“

“No, Jemma, you are the one who is wrong here. First, you put on the baubles, distribute them evenly, and then–“

“Oh, Fitz, you are so–“

“An idea, guys,” said Skye suddenly from behind their backs, a hand raised as in class, making them turn towards her. “Why don’t you just kiss and make up, and then start, let’s say, with what’s in the top box?”

That put an end to the argument. In fact, it put an end to every kind of verbal communication between the two scientists, who just looked at each other dumbfounded.

Maybe Skye was saying something.


	31. Santa Clause (Skyeward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written based on [Winter/Christmas drabble prompts](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/134480242594/winterchristmas-prompts)

“What are you doing, baby girl?” Skye asked, just a slight accusation in her voice as she stood in the doorway.

Haylie froze right away, then slowly, very slowly pulled her hand out of the drawer and closed it. She knew very well that she was doing something she was not supposed to – not going into mommy’s office (that was a slight exaggeration; she had a small room for her home server and a couple of filling cabinets on the first floor of their home) without supervision, that was the rule, because even though she and Grant were careful not to keep any weapons there, they still had some S.H.I.E.L.D. issued equipment in the room.

“I was just looking for the nighty glasses, mommy,” the five-year-old answered, slowly turning around to face her.

“The nighty…” _Oh_. She meant the night vision goggles. “And why do you need those?” Skye asked, stepping into the room and kneeling in front of her daughter, pushing a stray curl behind the little girl’s ear.

“For tomorrow night – I wanna see Santa Clause!” Haylie answered enthusiastically, her eyes going so comically big that it almost made Skye chuckle.

“But you know that Santa won’t come if you stay awake,” she told Haylie in her most reasonable voice. Her baby shook her head.

“But he won’t know I’m up!” Haylie protested. “That’s why I need the nighty glasses! I’ll hide and put them on and wait for him to come. He won’t even know I’m here! Please, mommy, can I have the nighty glasses? Please?”

It really was a fight not to laugh.

“I’ll talk with daddy about it when he gets home, okay?” she told Haylie, then stood up and picked up the little girl. “But then you have to behave, and that includes staying out of mommy’s office, okay?”

“Okay,” Haylie agreed, resting her little head on Skye’s shoulder. “But mommy? Do you think we should put out some carrots too? For the reindeers?”

***

Once Haylie was up in her room, nicely playing with Ada, Skye sent a quick text to Grant.

_Situation at home: your daughter is planning a stake out on Santa Clause._

She got the answer barely a minute later.

_Good girl. Hunter owes me one, I’ll tell him to get a costume._

There was a reason she loved this man.


	32. Snowfall (Skyeward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written based on [Winter/Christmas drabble prompts](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/134480242594/winterchristmas-prompts)

Skye hated cold. She was a California girl, after all, accustomed to sunlight and palm trees, not to icicles and below zeros – no matter how romantic and idyllic the untouched, virgin snow seemed.

So when Grant said that he’d like to take her out that day – and for him, out meant _out_ –, she wasn’t all for the idea. But then it was Grant asking her, and the _thing_ – the unlabeled, unexplored thing – between them was still new and exciting, so she agreed.

And he made her forget that she hated cold.

They were staying in Wien – Fitz and Simmons were attending some kind of symposium –, and he took her to downtown, into an actual Winter Wonderland – to the Christmas fair.

She didn’t even know where to look – there was so much to see, from the little vendors selling everything imaginable to the lights and the people and the food and… everything.

“I’ve wanted to come here for some time,” he told her, handing her a mug of mulled wine, “but never had a reason before. Or the right company.”

She smiled into her drink.

“And now you have?” she asked, taking a sip. The wine was sweet, and stronger than she’d have thought.

He reached for her glove-clad hand.

“The best I could ask for.”

And then he leaned in and kissed her, just as the snow began to fall.

Suddenly, she didn’t mind the cold at all.


	33. Family Christmas (Skyeward)

##  If they want to be honest with themselves, as a child neither Skye nor Grant looked forward Christmastime.

For her, it meant uncertainty and actual letdown; never really knowing whether she’d actually spend the holiday with her current foster family or back at the orphanage. It meant being sidelined, or even forgotten. It meant eloquent speeches about God and his love, out of which she got nothing. (One year she actually got shipped back to the orphanage on Christmas Eve, and spent the majority of the holiday with grumpy social workers.)

For him, it meant facades and lies; putting on a fake smile and pretending that everything is wonderful. It meant putting on matching sweaters with his siblings for a Christmas photo, then hiding away in his room afterwards to avoid his mother’s wrath for the photo not turning out the way she wanted. It meant grueling midnight services, cheerful lies in the cold church, noisy relatives and fights behind closed doors. (One year he even thought about running away; Christian found out and told their mother.)

So neither of them would have thought that they would get to this – to a living room decorated in festive colors, full of friends and family (the line between the two has been washed away long ago).

Coulson, May and Bobbi quietly discussing something in the corner – most likely reminiscing about some old mission. Jemma and Audrey on the couch, gushing over baby Ada. Haylie monopolizing Hunter’s attention, climbing all over his lap. Fitz, Trip and Mack being more interested in putting together the toy they brought for Haylie than in anything else.

Skye lets out a content sigh and burrows deeper into Grant’s chest, his arms around her waist.

“You know,” she says, looking over their family, “I don’t think I could ask for more. This is just perfect – the family I’ve ever wanted.”

“Agreed,” he nods, pressing a kiss against the top of her head. “But…”

“But?”

“But next year let’s have FitzSimmons or Coulson host.”

“You’re reading my mind.”


	34. Deck the Halls (Skyeward)

“What the hell are you doing?”

Skye looks down at him from the top of the ladder like she honestly doesn’t get what his problem is.

“Decorating?” she says, the word coming out more like a question than a statement as she holds up the garland held in her hand in demonstration. “You know, what people do around this time of the year?”

The instinctive answer – seasoned with an expletive – almost escapes from his lips, but he swallows in the last possible moment and opts for an exasperated grunt instead. He leaves her to her own devices for two hours, and that’s how he finds her…

“Down,” he says simply, patiently, stepping closer and reaching for her. “Come down.”

“I’m fine,” she protests, trying to bat his hands away. “Honestly, Grant…!”

Not caring about her protests, he slips one hand behind her knees, the other her waist, and with some difficulties (and with the help of her eventual surrender) he lifts her off the ladder, cradling her against his body.

“You’re pregnant,” he says as he carries her to the couch, his gaze wandering to her belly; she’s at thirteen weeks now, and their baby is nothing but a gentle curve, and heavens, he’s terrified. “You can’t–“

“I told you I’m fine,” she huffs indignantly as he puts her down on the couch. “Yes, I’m pregnant – thank you for reminding me of that.” (The corner of his mouth twitch.) “And I’m taking care of myself. And yet, I can handle standing on a freaking three-step ladder!” She crosses her arms and looks at him with steely gaze (she’s not that intimidating as she thinks she is).

“I’m just–“

“Hush!”

“I worry–“

“Hush!”

This time he stays silent. Takes one deep breath, lets it out and tries again.

“I love you. I know I can be overbearing, but I’m scared out of my mind, and if I could, I would keep you in a secure room for the next six months. So please, bear with me.”

There’s a moment of silence, but then he can see as her gaze soften and her shoulders relax.

“I love you too,” she says, then gives him a little come closer gesture; when he does lean closer, she gives him a quick peck on the lips. “And now, up on that ladder!”

“What?”

“Well, the base won’t decorate itself, and if I’m not allowed to do it…” She shrugs. “So chop-chop!” And with that, she leans back against the cushions.

He just lets out a resigned sigh, turns around, and picks up the fallen garland from the floor. She is lucky he loves her (but Hunter is better not hear about this). 


	35. Snowed in (Skyeward)

“You look a tad bit… tense,” Skye observed, stealing a peek at him over her tablet. Grant only grunted.

“It’s still snowing,” he remarked curtly, running a hand over his face and taking two steps towards the door leading to the cargo bay, then back, as if he couldn’t decide what to do in this dire situation.

“And that’s a problem why exactly?”

He stopped, and gave her a look as if she’d just asked the stupidest question possible.

“The hangar gate is already blocked by the snow, and people are doing nothing against it; not that there’s a point in trying to clear the driveway until the snowfall lightens. And thanks to the wind, the Bus can’t take off anyway, and–“

“Okay, stud, let’s stop here,” she cut in, putting her tablet down, forming a letter “T” with her hands. “Not wanting to be a party pooper, but A, we can do nothing about the weather, and B, it’s not if we have any ongoing missions to worry about.”

“But what if something happens, and–“

“We are not the only active team, you know that, right?” she stopped him once again. “Once in a blue moon others can take the call, if you ask me. And anyway, we deserve a day off – you deserve a day off.” She looked over him, from the bags under his eyes to the exhausted slope of his shoulders. “You definitely need a day off. Come here!” she said, moving to the far end of the couch. When he didn’t move, she added, “Oh, come on, I don’t bite! Come here! It’s an order!” she added, patting the seat next to her.

This actually got him moving; he walked over to the couch and sat down by her, a little bit reluctantly, but a small smirk tugging at his lips. Once he was seated, she put her hands on his shoulder, and gently pushed him, making him lie down and lay his head in her lap. He was tense at first, maybe even unwilling, but then she gently caressed his hairline with her fingertips, and the tension slowly left his body.

“Now, now, do you see? It’s not that bad,” she said softly, continuing to caress him. “Even you have to unwind once in a while, Agent Ward.”

He wanted to protest; he wanted to give her an irritated grunt and deny her claim. But all he could do was letting out a content sigh and close his eyes.


	36. Special Gift

“Jemma, important question here,” Skye says, sitting down at the counter, facing Simmons. “How big a cliché would it be to give Grant a gift-wrapped, positive pregnancy test as a Christmas gift?”

The moment the question is out, Jemma starts choking on her tea, the hot liquid scorching her throat, making her cough and gasp for air.

“You are pregnant?!” is the first thing that leaves her mouth as soon as she can speak again.

“No, I just haven’t figured out what to give him yet, and a pregnancy test seems like a good joke,” Skye rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m pregnant. Well, at least I’m late and I have a test with a little plus sign, so…” She shrugs, like it isn’t a big deal.

Slowly a wide grin appears on Jemma’s face.

“Oh my God! You are going to have a baby!” she almost squeals. “I’m going to be an auntie! I mean, I will, right?”

“Yes, of course, but would you just keep it quiet?” Skye chuckles into her palm, hushing her friend. “I don’t want the whole base to know just yet.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Jemma says, with a noticeably lower volume. “I’m just so excited for you guys! A baby! But to answer your question – yes, it would be a really big cliché. And Grant would love it.”

“Do you really think that?” Skye asks almost shyly.

“Of course! There’s only one problem,” she says with a touch of skepticism, “it’s still two weeks until Christmas. Do you think you can keep him from finding it out for that long?”

Skye lets a low – and maybe a tad bit too confident – whistle, like it was nothing to keep her pregnancy a secret.

“Please, I’m good at this stuff. I learned from the best.” She stands up from the chair. “Now I just have to find the right wrapping paper… Thank you, Jemma!” And with that, she is gone, leaving Jemma happy and excited and completely sure that her plan won’t work.

(Jemma can’t help but laugh loudly into her cereal two mornings later when Skye declines her usual coffee, and Grant, eyebrows comically raised, point blank asks if she is pregnant. So much for the gift-wrapped pregnancy test.)


	37. Not So Secret Santa (Skyeward)

There’s a (badly) gift-wrapped box lying on his bed when he gets back to his bunk after shower – it’s wrapped in shabby, green, holiday-themed paper, with an askew bow on the top. It’s adorable, in a strange kind of way.

Carefully tearing the wrapping away, he finds a book and a printed card inside – it’s the latter he picks up first.

_Because even robots (androids?) should enjoy the holidays, right? Your Secret Santa_

Chuckling to himself, he puts the card away (now he gets the printing – his “Secret Santa” didn’t want to give away their identity with the handwriting; not that it means anything – he still knows right away who the culprit is), and picks up the book – it’s brad new, the pages crisps, the spine unbent, the scent of the ink still strong. He turns it around in his hands, his gaze finally falling on the title.

_Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?_

He laughs so loud, he’s sure it can be heard in the lounge.

***

As she opens her eyes the next morning, the first thing she sees is an unfamiliar box sitting on her bedside table with an envelope on the top – addressed to “Secret Santa.” She all but jumps from the bed right away, making the covers fall to the floor as she, not even caring about the box, grabs the envelope in haste, rips it open, and pulls out the card inside.

_Dear “Secret Santa,”_

_They don’t. They dream of infuriating rookies._

It says in neat cursive, making her fall back to her pillow and laugh.

(This ended up so much better than she’s imagined.)


	38. Hawaiian Sunset (Skyeward)

“Are you still grumpy?” she asks with a grin on her face that even the Cheshire Cat would be envious of as she playfully rubs her toes against his shoulder.

He lets out an annoyed grunt (but somehow it’s not that convincing) and closes his eyes.

“Yes.”

She laughs. She throws her head back and laughs, a pure, joyful sound tearing free from the depth of her throat, making her body and the hammock they are lying in rock. In spite of himself, he smiles.

Twelve hours ago she told him they had a mission and he had to prepare the jet right away – Coulson’s orders –, because they needed to leave immediately. Eight hours ago they landed on Maui and she threw a pair of swimming trunks into his face. He was not amused.

Now they are lying in a hammock hip to hip, facing each other, background lighting provided by the setting sun, and apparently he has nothing to do for seven whole days other than swim in the ocean, lie in the sun and drink cocktails. It is strangely unnerving.

“You are impossible,” he tells her, grabbing her probing foot and pressing his thumb against the arch of it. She mewls in pleasure.

“I can’t be impossible. I exist,” she says with such cheekiness he knows it’s supposed to be some kind of reference he is supposed to get, but he just can’t find it in himself to force his brain to remember (he might be too comfortable for that).

(Damn her.)

“Just admit it,” she says after a while, “you’re glad we are here.”

He scoffs, trying to convey annoyance (he has been tricked to come here, after all), but it sounds unconvincing even to him.

“Admit it!” she presses, grinning.

“I don’t care where I am – as long as I’m with you, I’m okay,” he says at last, still not really admitting what she wants him to acknowledge.

“Aww,” she goes, anyway, “I think I’ve broken you. You’ve gone mushy. Cornier than a pop-corn stand.”

“That’s a terrible simile,” he chuckles, sliding his hand up her calf.

“But it’s true.”

He doesn’t argue with that. He sighs.

“But this place is nice. And it’s good to relax a little.”

She pokes his chest with her toes.

“Hah! I told you. So you’re not mad at me for tricking you?”

“No, not really,” he answers, taking hold of her foot again. “Irritated, a bit, but that’s fading.”

“Good. Because you needed some downtime. Desperately. Ah… don’t you stop this,” she moans as he massages the arch of her foot. “You have magic hands. Hm… Care for a little midnight swim later?”

“A midnight swim? Isn’t that a little bit too movie cliché for your taste?” he teases.

“Not if we skinny dip.”

He stills for a moment.

“I’m in.”


	39. Variations for a Birthday (Skyeward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Grant Ward’s/Brett Dalton’s birthday :) (I meant to write five birthdays, but I ran out of juice… Might continue it later on.) Also, a public announcement: I started a blog about writing tips and advice. It’s currently on a trial run, to see if there’s any interest in it. I’ve already published some basic stuff, and I have ideas for other articles, but if you have any specific topic you’d like me to write about, the ask box is open :) You can find it on Tumblr as [Orlissa’s Writing Lab](http://orlissaswritinglab.tumblr.com)

**2013**

He is on a recovery mission in Malaysia that was supposed to last no longer than two weeks – his handler at Missions had jokingly assured him before the mission that he’d be home for Christmas –, but is now into the sixth. Not that he’s complaining – it makes him a little anxious that it takes this long to get close to the item, but other than that, he has nowhere else to be.

It’s already the eighth before he realizes that his birthday came and went.

He only thinks about it for a moment, sitting in a café, waiting for his mark to arrive.

He’s thirty now, has reached a new decade – shouldn’t this mean something? Shouldn’t he feel different somehow? –, became a year older. Not that it matters the slightest. Not that he’s been celebrating his birthday in the last… fifteen years or so. There’s nothing to be jolly about – it’s just a societal convention.

Only… Only he wishes he had somebody to remember. Somebody to care. Somebody to grin at him and ruffle his hair and wish happy birthday. John… is John, and he might mention it when Grant gets back, but just as an offhanded comment, accompanied with a shrug, signifying that birthdays are not a thing they should care about when they have more important business.

Still, he can’t help making a wish.

**2014**

He and Skye has a little game, something they started to play not long after he started to train her: it all began when she brought up some ridiculous excuse why they should forgo training for that day (he can’t even remember what it was), to which he answered, grumbling, that it’s not a reason for cancelling training. For some reason, she found it hilarious, and kept coming up with crazy excuses, to which he (quickly catching on) always answered with the same formula, first grumbling, then, groaning, then smiling.

_Your favorite show having a season premier is no reason to cancel training._

_It being a national holiday in Uganda is no reason to cancel training._

_Fitz running out of pretzels is no reason to cancel training._

(It stopped being funny when his answer became _The world crumbling around us is no reason to cancel training_.)

And yet, on the morning of 7th January, 2014, he wakes to her hair tickling his nose as she leans in, peppering his neck with kisses.

“Good morning, handsome,” she whispers into his ear, then kisses his lips.

“What…” he starts, sneaking a peek at the clock; it’s early, even by his standards. It’s a real miracle that she’s already up. “How…” he starts, but she silences him with another kiss.

“I have a question,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows, grinning at him mischievously. “Is the fact that today is your birthday a good reason to cancel training?”

He blinks at her.

“How do you know this?”

“ _Duh_ ,” she rolls her eyes. “I went through the files of everyone in the team at least three times,” she explains, making sure that her tone conveys how trivial it is. “So… no training today?” She kisses his bare shoulder.

The corner of his mouth twitches (he’s impressed).

“Okay,” he nods. “It’s an okay reason to cancel training. This one time.”

“Great,” she grins, throwing one leg over his waist, straddling him, “because I have so much more pleasurable plans for the morning.”

**2015**

“Here!” she grabs his hand, placing it on a certain point on the lower curve of her belly. “Can you feel it?” she ask, voice high from excitement, eyes twinkling.

Only, he feels nothing.

“Sorry, no,” he says softly, and sees her face fall right away.

“Oh, bummer,” she falls back against the pillow. “But I swear she kicked – it was a strong one,” she goes on, actually pouting, making him chuckle.

He was away for two days, basically missing the majority of his birthday, and yet when he got back to the base, Skye was waiting for him with a cake (or at least something resembling a cake) and an appetite for something else. Now it’s nearing midnight and they are lying in bed, naked and blissfully tired, and Skye thought it would be the perfect birthday gift for him to feel their baby move – only she’s not cooperating (or she is, and it’s just too early for him to feel it yet at nineteen weeks).

“Come on, chipmunk,” Skye says, rubbing her belly, trying to get the baby move. “Give daddy a nice, big kick, will you? This time I won’t even get annoyed if you accidentally hit my kidney or something.” She keeps trying for a couple more seconds, then lets out an exasperated sigh. “I think she fell asleep.” she tells with such a disappointment in her voice that he can’t help but laugh.

“It’s okay,” he assures her, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “I think we should follow suit.”

She lets out a little petulant whine, but lets him help her lie down. Once settled on her side, she pulls his hand forward, placing it on her bump – just in case most likely.

“I really, really hoped you’d feel it today – because she just didn’t stop moving while you were away,” she mumbles once the lamp is turned off. “It would have been such a great gift.”

“It would,” he agrees, kissing her neck. “But having you two is already the best gift I could ask for.”


	40. Wanweird (Skyeward)

**Wanweird** \- _An unhappy fate._

Jemma used to think that sharing a room with Skye would be fun – like those sleepovers she missed out on as a child. But now, rooming with her in this nondescript motel while their world was crumbling around them was… awkward.

Jemma tried to pretend she didn’t see Skye cry as she came out of the bathroom. Skye tried to pretend she wasn’t crying when she wished Jemma good night and turned off the lamp.

Neither of them was fooled.

In the darkness of the room, as she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling motionless, Jemma could hear her friend’s soft sniffles, then a quiet “Jemma?”

“Yes?” she answered, turning her head towards Skye’s bed. She could barely make out the younger woman’s silhouette.

“Do you believe in fate?”

There were at least a thousand things Jemma wanted to say on the topic – probability theory, metaphysical approach, scientific refutation, scientific _proof_ … But she had a feeling Skye didn’t want to hear any of it.

“Yes,” she answered instead. “Why?”

Another sniff in the darkness.

“It’s stupid, but… there was a moment, a moment somewhere around the time he arrived at Providence when I actually thought… When I actually thought that we were destined to be together. That we were made for each other. And I wanted to believe it – oh, God, I so wanted to believe it!”

Jemma didn’t need to ask who Skye was referring to – _Ward_.

She took her time to answer.

“Maybe you were,” she said, staring at the ceiling again. “I mean… If destiny does exists… And there are people who are fated to meet and fall in love… Who says that their story needs to have a happy ending?”

Skye was silent after that for a long time.

“Maybe you are right,” she said at last, then blew her nose. “Still… I wish we got a different ending.” The springs of her mattress creaked, and Jemma knew Skye had turned to the other side, her back now facing her. The conversation was over.

Still, she spoke after a minute. “Skye?”

“Yes?”

“Who says this is the end of the story?”

 


	41. Ayurnamat (Skyeward)

**Ayurnamat** \- _The philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed._

Grant Ward was an intelligent person – intelligent enough to realize that he was too small, too weak, too insignificant to stop certain things from happening.

He didn’t have the ability to stop the Sun from rising.

He couldn’t save every single person in the world.

He couldn’t stop HYDRA from destroying the very core of S.H.I.E.L.D.

So he decided not to care about things like that (it’s a funny thing – deciding not care; it rarely ever works). So he simply decided to live his life the best way he could.

(In hindsight, it was a rather shitty life.)

Of course, when he realized that he was falling in love with Skye – another thing he didn’t have power over –, he panicked.

Love – attachments – was wrong. It was a weakness. It clouded your judgement. It distracted you from your actual goals.

Love was a luxury he didn’t need or deserve.

So he decided not to love her (again – there are some things you can’t just decide not to do).

It failed spectacularly.

Because she would smile at him or crack a joke or sit down next to him or twirl a lock of hair around her finger or chew on the end of her pencil when deep in thought or make a sarcastic remark or do anything, absolutely anything, just being her, and his heart would speed up right away, beating hard in his chest, and–

It was pointless.

He loved her.

She was his light.

His reason for existence.

So he gave up – gave up on trying to act like she didn’t matter. Like he wasn’t stupidly in love with her (he had never felt like this before).

So he decided… Well, he decided to simply love her, everybody else and what the future may hold to be damned.

Not that he had any power over it anyway.


	42. Duende (Skyeward)

**Duende** \- _Unusual power to attract or charm._

Skye was infuriating – she was reckless, insubordinate, inappropriate, unpredictable, and… and a dozen other things that often made Grant want to rip his hair out.

But the worst of all – she was irresistible, and without even trying.

She was nothing like the women he always saw in bars and nightclubs whenever his path led to a place like that – the kind who thought that pumped up lips, fake hair and a neckline so low that their breasts almost popped out of their dress made them attractive. No, Skye was… genuine.

She was a natural beauty, and had a warm aura that simply seemed to draw people in – she had a way with them, getting close to them, and making them trust her. And when she smiled, the whole room seemed to light up.

And he was falling for that smile hard and fast.

He always wanted to be near her. He lived for their training sessions, when he could be close enough to her to touch, when his fingers could linger. He sought out her company in the lazy afternoons, acting as if he just happened to be there in the lounge when she was there, just to hear her babble about topics that excited her. He feigned being annoyed when she teased him, when, in reality, he loved it. He told her lame jokes, just to hear her laugh.

He dreamed of her lips against his.

He knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn’t help it – he was already addicted to her.


	43. Apodyopis (Skyeward)

**Apodyopis** \- _The act of mentally undressing someone._

Skye liked to think that they were being subtle – well, after all, it’d been over a week and still neither of them was called to Coulson’s office for breaking protocol or anything, so they must have been subtle, right?

(Well, for her part, she did everything to remain quiet when they were in the backseat of the SUV the other day and he was doing that thing with his tongue, and she succeeded – more or less.)

But then there were situations like this, when… Well, when they were anything but subtle. When she thought it was a smaller miracle they hadn’t been found out yet.

Because now they were standing around the table in the command center, listening to Coulson’s debrief, her on one side and Grant on the other, opposite of her, and damn, she could barely hear what A.C. was saying, because that bastard was literally undressing her with his eyes.

Of course he was… well, subtle about it; he wore that guarded, impenetrable mask of his, the one that hid his emotions so well, but she knew him well enough by now, and so she could see all his little tells. And now she could see in the slant of his eyes and the set of his mouth that in his mind, he was just peeling off her clothes – slipping off her shirt, popping the button of her jeans, kissing her neck, sliding a hand into her panties…

She bit into her lip and clenched her thighs together. She so didn’t need this mental image right now, in the middle of briefing.

He must have noticed something on her face, because the next moment his eyebrows rose just a little in question; she gave him a grimace in response, trying to convey how annoyed and aroused she was by him right now.

And then that… that… that infuriating piece of man grinned.

Oh, she couldn’t wait to get over with the briefing and drag him to some quiet corner of the Bus to get some payback. Preferably the hands-on kind.

She just had to survive until then, of course.


	44. Gargalesthesia (Skyeward)

**Gargalesthesia** \- _The sensation caused by tickling._

“You wouldn’t dare,” he says in a half-threatening, half-incredulous whisper, even though he already knows the answer: yes, she would dare (he’s pushed her far enough).

Skye lifts her eyebrows in challenge and grins. Then the next moment she attacks – she leaps from her place on the couch next to him and aims for his ear, the one place she knows is hopelessly ticklish.

He reacts as quickly as he can, going straight for her wrists to stop her – he fully plans to use his size and strength as advantage –, only she knows his moves way too well, and manages to evade him, her grabby hands still inches away from his poor ear.

But the best way to fight fire is with fire, right?

So he uses her own medicine against her – taking both of her wrists into one hand the best he can (she’s struggling like crazy, so he knows he’ll lose hold of her in seconds), he brings his other to her side, and starts tickling her mercilessly, while lowering his mouth to her neck and blowing a raspberry onto her skin.

“Sto-op!” she squeal, laughing as they roll around on the couch, she getting under him, their limbs tangled together. “Grant!”

“You started it,” he points out, pinning her down and not ceasing tickling her for a moment. “Revenge is sweet, isn’t it?”

“You are so going to pay for this!” she pants between bursts of laughter, then he seals her lips with his and they don’t talk anymore.


	45. Agelast (Skyeward)

**Agelast** _\- A person who never laughs._

“Alright, Coulson, out with it,” Maria Hill says, arms crossed, almost glaring at the man in front of her. “What have you done with him?” And she cocks her head towards the lounge where the younger members of Coulson’s team sit, engaged in lively discussion.

Coulson looks at them proudly, in an almost fatherly way.

“All the years I’ve known and supervised him,” Hill continues, “I’ve never seen Ward so much as genuinely smile; all I’ve ever seen were sarcastic little smirks – you’ve read my assessment of him, Coulson, you know what I’m talking about. So what did you do?”

Almost as if to prove Hill’s point, the next moment Ward throws his head back and lets out a heartfelt laugh.

Coulson can’t hear what they are talking about, but he still can’t stop a small smile from appearing on his face.

“I cannot take credit – or blame – for any change in Agent Ward’s behavior, Commander,” he replies with a tiny shrug. “But if I might voice my opinion, I think the change in his attitude is for the better.”

The corner of Hill’s mouth twitches, as if she is fighting a smile herself.

“I’m not questioning that,” she says, facing Coulson completely, turning her back to the lounge. “I’m just merely curious of _how_ did you manage to do that?”

At this moment Coulson just catches over Hill’s shoulder as Grant takes Skye’s hand, links their fingers together, then lifts them to his mouth and presses a kiss against the back of her hand, while gazing at her lovingly.

“That,” he answers at last, turning to Hill, “is best to stay within my team, I think.”


	46. Capernoited (Skyeward)

**Capernoited** \- _Slightly intoxicated or tipsy._

Sometimes Grant honestly feels like a babysitter. Or an unfortunate older brother tasked with taking care of his wayward younger siblings.

He is sitting behind the wheel, listening to Skye and Jemma sing – way off key – and giggle in the backseat – because they had a girls’ night out, and somehow he ended up picking them up from the bar where they had consumed, he presumes, one too many cocktails.

Fighting the urge to frown and massage the bridge of his nose (it’s really late and his patience is paper thin by now), he rolls onto the lowered ramp of the Bus and puts the car into Park. By the time he gets out, the back door is already open and the girls are climbing out – Jemma seems more steady on her feet, while Skye almost trips in her own foot, so he stands beside her and grips her elbow to study her.

All he gets is a slightly annoyed look.

“I’m okay,” Skye says as she half-heartedly tries to free her arm. Jemma’s already halfway up the spiral staircase, oblivious to the fact that they have stayed behind. “I’m not drunk,” she sways again, all but falling against his chest. “Just a little tipsy.”

“Make that very tipsy,” Grant corrects her with raised eyebrows as he leads her to the staircase. He briefly contemplates simply picking her up and carry her bridal-style, not really trusting her balance right now, but then she takes the first step successfully, so he decides against it, and simply stands right behind her so he’ll be able to catch her if she falls.

“Ah, potato, pothato,” she dismisses it with a wave of her hand. “Still, I had a grrreat night – I really needed this. I just wish you were there, too,” she says as they reach the main deck and she bends down, getting rid of her heels. (He most definitely does not sneak a glance at her ass.)

“Really?” he asks, a little surprised. “Why?”

“The guys there were so lame,” she explains as he walks her to her bunk. “They rrreally coulda used a good example.” She stops in front of her door and turns around, placing a hand, fingers splayed wide, on his chest. “And you’re such a nice guy.”

And with that, completely taking him unawares, she stands on the tip of her toes, and presses a quick kiss to his lips.

“Good night, Mr. Nice Guy,” she giggles, looking up at him from under lowered lashes, then she disappears into her bunk.

And Grant just stands there, dumbfounded, blinking at the closed door, trying to wrap his mind around what has just happened in the last fifteen seconds.

Then he decides that maybe he should get Skye tipsy more often.


	47. Cheiloproclitic

**Cheiloproclitic** \- _Being attracted to someone’s lips._

Skye is talking – to him – about hacking, about how the guy they are up against is good, but not as good as her, and she is pointing at the screen, showing him bits of codes, using a language he doesn’t understand – hackers really have their lingo –, and he doesn’t get a word of what she is saying.

And not only because the language barrier.

He doesn’t really hear her – he mostly just sees her.

Her lips.

Her full, perfectly shaped, lustful lips.

(How can lips be so inviting? So irresistible?)

All he can think of is grabbing her shoulders, turning her so she faces him, then cupping her face in his hand, and kiss her – kiss her thoroughly, deeply, passionately. Kiss her like a high priest worships his goddess.

Kiss her until she runs out of breath and she sighs into his mouth and her lashes caress his cheeks as she slowly opens her eyes.

He wants…

“Ward? Are you even listening?”

He mentally shakes himself.

“Sure. So, you got him?”

She gives him a strange look, but then goes on explaining that yeah, she got him – as if nothing has happened.

(It’s a good thing she can’t read minds.)


	48. Cataglottism

**Cataglottism** \- _Kissing with tongue._

She hates – hates, hates, hates – secrets. There was a reason she joined the Rising Tide and tried to unveil government conspiracies.

But she has to admit: this is kind of thrilling.

If anybody asks, there’s nothing between her and Grant. Nope. Nothing at all. It would be against protocol, after all.

But the moment they are alone with no-one watching, he is pulling her into an empty room, the armory, or even the janitor’s closet – whatever is the closest –, pushing her against the wall, and, her face in his hands, he is kissing her. Deep and slowly, running his tongue along her lips, seeking admittance, which she gives right away, welcoming him, burying her fingers in his hair, gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, trying to melt into him…

Part of it is their natural chemistry – their undying, never lessening need to be with the other, the spark between them that is threatening to burn down galaxies –, part of it is the thrill of keeping it a secret.

Of course, neither of them is too good at keeping secrets these days.

They pull apart, flying from each other like frightened birds, the moment the door opens.

Bobbi stands on the threshold, taking in their guilty, caught-red-handed expressions, moving her gaze from Skye to Grant and then back, rolling her eyes.

“Honestly, guys,” she says before either of them has a chance to speak, “it’s like you’re not even _trying_.”

And then she takes half a step back and closes the door.


	49. Strikhedonia (Skyeward)

**Strikhedonia** \- _The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”._

He wakes up – a lot later than he usually does –to the buzzing of his phone. Groaning, he turns around, picks it up from the nightstand, and, bleary-eyed, glances at the caller ID.

It’s Garrett.

He should take it, he knows – what is masqueraded as a courtesy call, a how-are-you-doing, a little catching up between former S.O. and trainee is actually a thinly veiled demand on updates, and Grant is well aware of it (with each passing day, John is becoming more impatient, more impulsive, more erratic).

Hell, he even understands it to a degree.

And yet, he first hits decline, and the turns off his phone before placing it back on the nightstand.

“Hm… what’s that?” Skye asks, eyes barely open, turning towards him in the bed.

“Nothing,” he replies as he settles back next to her, sneaking his arms around her waist and pulling her against his chest. “Go back to sleep.” He presses a kiss against her hair.

“Mmm… okay,” she says, snuggling closer to him and taking his hand, and a moment later she’s already asleep.

Grant knows he can’t avoid speaking with John forever – at one point he’ll have to face him and feed him with a good excuse for why he didn’t take the call, why he has been lax at keeping contact, and why his reports have been lacking lately.

At one point he’ll have to be the great spy he is supposed to be and convince Garrett that _everything is alright and going according to plan_.

But until them… Until then, he is going to spend some more time in his personal Paradise.


	50. Basorexia (Skyeward)

**Basorexia** \- _An overwhelming desire to kiss._

He has stopped resisting.

He embraces her from behind as she is standing by the counter, wearing nothing, just his shirt from yesterday. He pulls her close and buries his face in her neck. She giggles.

“What are you doing?” she asks, covering his hand with hers.

“Hm… nothing,” he answers, nuzzling his nose against the soft skin just under her ear. “Everything. Whatever I want.”

She gently peels his hands away and turns around in his arms.

“And what might that be?” she challenges, loving eyes meeting his.

A smile plays in the corner of his mouth, reaching his eyes, as he answers, “This,” he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss against her shoulder. “And this,” he grabs the top of her thighs, lifts her up, places her on the counter and kisses her neck, sucking on the supple skin. “And this,” he draws a line along her jaw with the tip of his nose, inhaling her scent in. She sighs. “And, of course, this,” taking her face into his hands, he kisses her, full on the lips, hungry, passionate, loving.

She looks at with a dazed gaze when they pull apart, forehead resting against forehead, their breaths mingling.

“I’m so glad,” she says, brushing her lips against his tentatively, teasingly, “that you are free to do whatever you want.”


	51. Gymnophoria (Skyeward)

**Gymnophoria** \- _The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you._

He is checking the equipment in the cupboards – moving big boxes, bending down, standing up – down in the cargo bay when he feels it – that tell-tale tingling in the nape of his neck, the unnerving, uncomfortable feeling of being watched (he is too well familiar with this feeling; also, his keen ability to actually sense being watched has saved his life a couple of times).

He is alert right away – it’s an instinct that kicks in sooner than rational thought. His muscles tense up, ready to attack or defense and his gaze wanders to the side, checking if he has his gun within reach. Then, only then, does he turn around and look up.

Skye’s up on the gallery, her elbows resting on the railing, looking down at him with wide, unwavering gaze.

He relaxes instantly and gives her a slight smile.

She returns it and licks her lips; he sees her eyes slowly move along his body, studying him slowly.

He can practically feel his clothes being peeled away. The sensation is quickly setting his blood on fire.

He grins, his gaze challenging.

She makes a small, come-hither gesture with a single finger, slow, seductive, then turns around and disappears into the main deck of the Bus.

He doesn’t have to be told twice to follow.


	52. Damn That Itch (Skyeward)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the Tumblr list [Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/139662164914/nonsexual-acts-of-intimacy-select-from-the) \- Back scratches

Skye was sure that itchy back was a cruel joke of the universe. Especially the kind where you just couldn’t reach the itchy spot – like right between your shoulder blades – no matter how hard you tried, and the itch just got worse and worse until it drove you up the wall.

Exactly like the one she was having now.

The itch was killing her, and no matter how she twisted, turned or stretched – and believe her, she had tried every position imaginable (and even some unimaginable ones) –, she just couldn’t reach it, and so she was fast approaching the point where she started crying or shouting or the mixture of the two out of sheer frustration. As a last resort, she stuck her right hand behind her back, and tried to push it upwards with her left at the elbow to reach that damn spot, and she was so close, so _damn close_ , just an inch, and then–

Jackpot.

Her tight muscles loosened up right away, and she let out a relieved sigh.

…Only to tense slightly up a moment later when she realized it wasn’t actually her scratching her back.

She cast a careful glance behind her shoulder at her savior – whoever was still mercifully scratching her back.

“Oh, hi,” she almost _squeaked_ out.

“Hi,” Ward replied with that stupid, infuriating half-smile on his face that she had always interpreted as _I am amused and you are adorable, but I refuse to show it_. “Is it okay?”

“More than okay,” she moaned softly (damn, she actually _moaned_ ), then, her body going lax again, she let her head drop, resting her forehead on her arms on the table in front of her, and positioned her back in a way that he got just the best angle. “It’s amazing.”

She could have _sworn_ she heard him chuckle.

“You’re welcome,” he said, then dropped his hand. “Well, if you need any more itches to scratch, you know where to find me.” And with that, he walked away.

She almost called after him, asking if he only meant _back_ itches. Almost.


	53. Small Gestures (Skyeward)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the Tumblr list [Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/139662164914/nonsexual-acts-of-intimacy-select-from-the) \- One character adjusting the other's jewelry/neck tie/ etc.

It’s been a long day, she’s tired, and it honestly felt like as if the debriefing was dragging into eternity, so she swears she honestly heard a choir sing _hallelujah_ when Coulson finally dismissed the team. So now there’s nothing on her mind other than her comfy PJs and her even comfier bed (and maybe some cocoa before her head hitting her pillow, because, yeah… sue her).

Only before she could step into her bunk a voice calling her name stops her.

“Skye, got a minute?” Grant asks almost softly, stepping up to her.

She lets her face break into a small smile.

“For you? Always.”

If she is tired, he must be exhausted; for her, this mission was mostly just sitting behind a screen, hacking and coding and watching surveillance tapes, while he was on the ground for days, going undercover in Istanbul to catch the bad guy. And they did catch him, and Grant was great and badass and a foolish, brave idiot at some points, but there he is now, looking down at her almost sheepishly, a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

“It’s just, um…” He clears his throat and starts again. “I got you something,” he says, making her eyes go wide a little as he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small, black, rectangular box, and hands it to her.

“You shouldn’t have.” He really shouldn’t; they have only been kinda-sorta dating (she doesn’t have a better term for their _thing_ ) for a short while, and it’s not even exactly official (it’s not like they have made a statement of it, or even done anything romance-wise beyond having sex), and she doesn’t want him to think that she wants grand gestures or gifts or anything, because she’s not that kind of girl, but she still takes the box and opens the lid with slightly trembling fingers.

It’s a necklace – a small, silver pendant of three intersecting circles with a tiny, red stone in the middle, on a thin, silver chain.

It’s beautiful.

“But I wanted to,” he says. “I’ve noticed you like this kind of… jewelry,” he gestures vaguely towards her neck, where three thin chains are residing even now, “and it reminded me of you.”

She looks up at him.

“Thank you,” she blinks. Damn him. Damn him and his cool and professional façade, and the sensitive, sweet, unsure, considerate, kind guy hiding beneath.

“You’re welcome,” he says, his smile widening. He points at the box. “May I?”

Understanding what he means, she nods, hands the box back and sweeps her hair to one side before turning around. He gently lifts the necklace from the box, then lowers the chain in front of her face before fastening the clasp behind her neck. He gently draws a fingertip along the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, then carefully frees her locks from under the chain.

When she turns back towards him, she is fingering the pendant that rests just under her clavicle.

“Thank you,” she repeats. “I love it.”

Then she sneaks a careful glance around – just to make sure nobody is there to witness what she’s about to do –, places her hands on his shoulders, raises herself to her toes, then presses a gentle, chaste kiss against his lips.

“Now, you… you must be tired,” she says, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder. “You should go get some sleep. _We_ should get some sleep.”

“Yes,” he agrees with a small nod, his eyelids dropping for a moment. “Good night.”

He steals one last kiss.

“Sweet dreams,” she replies, then, letting go of him, she steps into her bunk and slides the door closed behind herself.

She falls asleep with a smile on her face that night, clutching her new necklace in her hand.


	54. After-Mission Interlude (Skyeward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the Tumblr list [Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/139662164914/nonsexual-acts-of-intimacy-select-from-the) \- Shoulder rubs

“Come here, oh, you gallant knight!” Skye says, her voice light, teasing, and his lips curl into a weak smile in spite of himself.

He’s half dead on his feet, beyond exhausted; he hasn’t slept in almost forty hours, he’s been knocked around, beaten, and shot (the bullet hit his vest, but it still hurt like hell). He is more than happy that the op is finally over and he’s at home at last, and there is nothing he wants more at the than some sleep.

“Gallant knight?” he chuckles weakly, walking to the bed. “More like a jackass… ugh,” his sentence ends in an undignified groan as he all but falls into bed, stomach first. He’s just showered, washing away all the grime and sweat, his skin still feels almost damp, and the sheets are _pure heaven_. He lets his eyelids fall.

He hears Skye’s giggles jingle like delicate, silver bells in the distance.

“No more _Galavant_ for you, mister.”

He smiles into his pillow.

The next moment he feels the mattress dip, then Skye is climbing on top of him, settling down on the small of his back, her slender, gentle hands on his shoulders.

“Skye…” he mumbles weakly, although even he doesn’t know whether it’s a protest or a plea.

“It’s okay,” she says softly, pressing a ghost of a kiss under his ear. “Just relax.”

And then her hands are back on his shoulder, kneading gently. He’s sore all over, but her hands are magic; she massages all the pain and stiffness and tension away, making him feel as if he was soaring on a cloud, only her weight anchoring him to the here and now.

She is talking to him in soft, hushed tones, but he couldn’t tell what about. There’s half a thought forming in his barely-awake mind to ask her about it later – once he is more rested –, but he gives in to sleep before he could make up his mind about it.

He dreams of spring sunshine and chocolate eyes and teasing laugh.


	55. Of Stubborn Robots (Skyeward)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the Tumblr list [Cuddle Up a Little Closer](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/141888137499/cuddle-up-a-little-closer-a-domesticityintimacy) \- Taking care of the other while sick

Grant Ward refused to be sick – it didn’t mean, of course, that he never got sick; just that he stubbornly refused to acknowledge being sick. What would have been the point, anyway? He usually had work to be done (and no bad guy postponed his plans of world dominance because the agent on his tails had a cold), and it wasn’t as if he had anybody to take care of him. So, if he did get sick, usually he just gritted his teeth, powered his way through it, and continued doing his job.

So when he woke with a pounding headache, aching throat, and slightly shivering, cancelling his morning workout with Skye was the furthest thing from his mind. Even if he wasn’t standing so surely on his own two feet as usually.

Skye, of course, noticed that something was amiss right away – he could see it in her eyes when, for the first time ever since they had started training, he descended the stairs to the cargo bay after her –, but he forestalled her concerned comments, and compensated his momentary vulnerability with curt orders: warm-up, stretch, ten minutes at the bag. And it worked, for a while – she did what she’d been told without a single complaint, even though he could see that she kept a careful eye on him –, until she managed to hit the bag in such an angle while they were practicing kicks that it threw him momentarily off balance (on any other day, it wouldn’t have even fazed him). Now, that got her stop, lower her hands and look at him with a rather worried look in her eyes.

“Are you sure you are alright? Shouldn’t we take a break?” she said quickly, taking a step towards him. “Don’t you wanna sit down for a bit?”

“I’m okay,” he waved her concerns away stubbornly, massaging the bridge of his nose with his free hand, because damn, that headache was just getting worse. “I’m fine. Let’s…” He cleared his throat. “Let’s do some push-ups.”

But Skye didn’t let go of it so easily. Taking advantage of the second when he closed his eyes to battle his sudden dizziness, she stepped right up to him, and pressed the back of her hand first against the side of his neck, then to his forehead (her cool skin felt nice).

“Oh my God,” she breathed, taking his face into both of her hands, “you are burning up.”

“I’m fine, I told you…” he protested, but his words sounded weak even to him.

“No, you are not,” she said, then the next moment turned towards the lab. “Simmons!” With his eyes still closed, he could imagine Jemma raising her head from the microscope and turning towards them. “Ward has a fever.”

“I don’t…”

“Would you just shut up?”

And he did. He honestly had neither the strength nor the willpower to argue with her in that moment, so he simply let her take his hand and lead him into the lab (his body wrecked by coughs on the short walk there).

His hypothetical fever might have started getting the best of him, because from then on he was only half-aware of what was happening – he noted, in an oddly detached way, that he was led to chair in the lab and made to sit down, after which a thermometer was pressed into his ear (“102,5 degrees.” He heard Simmons _tsk_ ), then somebody pushed a swab into his mouth (“Just to find out what do you have exactly.”), followed by some pills and bottle of water pushed into his hands.

“Take these,” Simmons instructed, “then off to bed with you.”

Grant took the pills – an order was order, and it kind of made sense –, but then weakly shook his head.

“No, I’m okay, really, just give me a minute.”

“Just cut it out already!” That was Skye again, sounding somehow increasingly annoyed. “Why are you being so damn stubborn?” He actually cringed at that, which, at least, made Skye take the volume down a bit. She knelt down in front of him too look into his eyes. “Now really, please, go back to bed! For you own good? Just rest for a bit. I’ll tell Coulson that you are out of commission for today – I’ll even ask May to finish my training with me if that makes you feel better. Please?”

He took a deep breath (which wasn’t exactly painless), then nodded, giving in.

“Alright,” he said, standing up, “but I’ll ask May about it.”

***

Sleeping felt like the best… and the worst thing at the same time. On one hand, his body was extremely grateful for the rest, for not having to move around, and the warm blanket over his body. On the other hand… Although the pills Simmons gave him did make him drowsy, he just couldn’t fall peacefully asleep. He tossed and turned, shivering, then sweating, his head pounding, his body wrecked with coughing fits. And when he did manage to fall asleep – which felt like an eternity later –, his dreams were terrifying and completely incoherent.

Still, he managed to sleep soundly enough that he didn’t wake with a start when somebody entered his bunk – no, he only noticed the intruder when she placed a wet washcloth on his forehead.

He opened his eyes slowly, his mind still sluggish, trying to reconnect with reality, then, after blinking a few times, he tried to sit up, giving a painful grunt.

Gentle hands pushed him back to the bed.

“Hey, don’t get up, okay? Just stay,” Skye chided softly, her voice barely above whisper. “It’s okay.”

He blinked again, her face slowly coming into focus. She was kneeling next to his bed with a half concerned-half amused expression on her face and a wet washcloth in her hand, which she used to wipe his forehead and neck. The cool touch of the damp material felt heavenly; he let his eyelids drop at the sensation.

“Your fever went down a bit,” he heard Skye say, “but it’s still pretty high. But Simmons says you’ll live.” (He could almost see the upward tilt of the corners of her mouth.) “She sent some other pills, but basically she said you have to sleep it off – but you’ll be back on your feet in a couple of days, and then you can continue frowning and bossing me around.”

He groaned – mostly at that he’d be out of commission for a couple of days, partially because he didn’t want her to think that he was “bossing her around.”

“Don’t get so grumpy cat about it,” she continued, dipping the cloth into the water bowl once again, wringing it out, then placing it on his forehead. “Even Coulson says that your priority now is to get out of this,” she said, adjusting his blanket.

With some effort, he opened his eyes once again and looked at her (it might have been the fever talking, but she looked especially beautiful to him in that moment).

“Thank you,” he croaked, his throat achy, dry. “You don’t have to do this, and…”

“But I want to,” she cut in, taking his hand and pressing a quick, impulsive kiss to his wrist. “Really. And I can’t have my S.O. dying of common cold because of stubbornness, so…” She shrugged. “You are welcome. But I gotta go now – May is quizzing me on some S.H.I.E.L.D. precedents in an hour, and I still have to leaf through that stuff. I put your pills and water on the nightstand. Holler if you need me. Or, you know, cough or something.” And with that, she was gone.

He let his eyelids drop again, while a small, barely-there smile found its way to his lips.

This time he slept so much easier.

***

His fever broke by the next morning, headache gone by the evening, coughing under control in two days – thanks to, in no small part, he was sure, Skye’s diligent care –, and he was back to the cargo bay on the fourth morning, still not exactly one-hundred percent, but well enough to work with Skye on her punches.

That’s it, until she sneezed.

Both of them froze for a moment, staring at each other.

“Go to Simmons, then back to your bunk,” he said, pointing at the lab, his tone not giving room for argument.

And, for once, Skye obeyed without so much as a snide comment.


	56. One, Two, Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Cuddle Up a Little Closer Meme](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/141888137499/cuddle-up-a-little-closer-a-domesticityintimacy) \- Slow dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still a little blocked as far as _A Year in Life_ goes, so now I’m doing prompted drabbles. Which run too long, as usual.

 

“What, no bag today?” Skye asked with a cheeky undertone in her voice, leaning on the railing of the catwalk. “Do you have something even meaner for me?”

If she didn’t know him better, she would have thought Grant Ward was struggling not to smile.

“Something like that,” he answered in a tone that could have suggested either amusement or grumpiness. “Do you have heels?”

She blinked down at him. “What… Yeah, sure, I have a pair, but… heels? Why do you need heels?” She squinted, a smirk hiding in the corner of her mouth. “Just FYI, we’re really not the same size. Just saying, if you meant to borrow my shoes.”

This time, she was sure he smiled.

“Just put them on and meet me down here in five, okay? I’ll explain then.”

“Sure,” she shrugged pushing herself away from the railing and turning towards the living area of the Bus. “If you say so, my great S.O.”

She was back and down in the cargo hold, heels on, in four minutes (something she was rather proud of), waiting for his explanation with arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Alright, so what’s the deal?”

“Can you dance?”

She wouldn’t lie and say that the question didn’t come a little unexpected.

“Yeah, sure, I guess,” she shrugged again, trying to play it down. “Bring on some music, and I can shake it.”

He didn’t even miss a beat. “I meant ballroom dancing. Waltz, Foxtrot, the like?”

She bit into her lip. “Yeah, that… Nope.” She let her arms fall. “Why?”

He relaxed his stance a little as well, so she knew a quick lecture was coming; but, to his credit, when he spoke, he didn’t sound condescending at all. “Being an agent is not just dodging bullets and fighting your way out of situations. Sometimes you have to go undercover–you have to blend in. And in cases like those, it’s handy to have some extra skills–like dancing. Even the Academy offers it as an elective.”

“Wow,” she said, with only just a tiny bit of mock-irony. “So now you’ll teach me how to dance?”

Now she could have sworn he looked a little uncomfortable. “Technically, yes,” he replied, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I thought you’d appreciate some change of pace,” he added as an explanation.

“I do, it’s just…” she trailed off, not really sure what she meant to say, then mentally shook herself, and started okay. “Okay, so what do you want me to do?”

He stepped closer to her, and suddenly the scent of his cologne, which until then was only an undertone in the distance, filled the air around her. He reached for her left hand, and she took a deep breath.

“It’s really not that difficult,” he said as he placed her left hand on his shoulder, then took her right, holding it out to the side. “Just follow my lead.”

“There’s no music.”

“You don’t need that yet.” He put his right hand on her waist, and she shivered for no reason. “Just listen to me.”

And so he started leading her, forcing her back a couple of steps before guiding her to the side, while chanting “one-two-three, one-two-three” under his breath. It was awkward at best, embarrassing at worst–she felt like her head and her legs belonged to two different entities, she tripped over her own feet, and even managed to step on his toes on several occasions (he didn’t even wince). At first, she tried to keep her gaze up, but the more mistakes she made, the stronger the urge was to watch her feet, as if it could help her, so she gave in pretty soon, casting her eyes down.

“Don’t look down,” he told her right away, without breaking the rhythm. “Keep your eyes up.” She did (risking tripping again), and then he continued, “Beyond blending in, dancing can benefit you in other ways during undercover ops, too,” he explained. “If you’re with a partner, it can give you a three hundred and sixty degree view of the room, and nobody finds it suspicious if dancers lean close to each other, maybe even whisper into the other’s ear, so you can discuss things with a minimal risk of being overheard. So just keep your eyes up.”

“Yeah, well,” she snorted, “there isn’t much to look at behind you right now.”

“Then look into my eyes,” he prompted. “Keep eye contact. Don’t look down.”

“Easier said than done,” she grumbled in a low voice, but still did what he asked from her.

And it really was easier said than done; she had had noted earlier to herself that he had nice eyes, but looking into them from this close–without blinking or blushing or making an idiot of herself–was a completely different story. Like, how was she supposed to pay attention to the one-two-three, one-two-three beat of the dance, when he was close enough for her to count the colors in his eyes? (From afar, they simply looked brown, but from this close, they were more like whisky, or maybe amber, with flecks of honey, and a shade she still had to find a name for. Maybe she should have googled the shades of brown…). And apart from that–and maybe it was even more distracting–he seemed to be watching _her_ eyes just as intently as she was watching _his._ She even saw his lips twitch once or twice, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he settled for a soft smile, nothing more, but somehow even that smile made her feel butterflies in her belly.

So, yeah, it was no surprise that she messed it up pretty soon after the “look into my eyes” order.

He must have been trying to turn her, but she missed the step and her foot fell on his foot instead, which broke her trance, alarming her and urging her to correct, but that only made things worse, because her heel somehow got stuck in something, turning her ankle out in an unnatural angle.

“ _Ouch!_ ” she cried out, instinctively trying to reach for her leg, making her lose whatever weak grip on balance she still had and propelling her forward. If not for Ward’s miraculously quick reflexes–he reached out right away, catching her elbows and holding her up–she was sure she would have fallen on the metal floor, face first.

“You okay?” he asked, with actual concern in his voice, as he led her to the side of the room.

“Yeah, I guess, it’s just… ouch,” it broke from her lips once again as she tried to put weight on her injured ankle.

He guided her to one of the crates by the wall and helped her sit down, then knelt in front of her, taking her leg into his hands. He pulled her shoe off (she couldn’t help noticing what a _reverse-Cinderella_ moment this was), and ran his fingers along the wounded ankle, probing a little and making her wince.

“You’ll live,” he said after a moment, standing up and looking at her with a half-smile. “Some ice and a little rest, and it’ll good as new in no time.”

“Good to know,” she answered, taking his offered hand and letting him help her get up. “But until then,” she continued as he put her arm around his shoulder and slid his other arm around her torso, supporting most of her weight, “can I order you around? You know, bring me this and that?”

“Dream on, Rookie,” he said, but there was something in his voice that told her it was not entirely out of the question. “Until then, we can go over some theoretical stuff.”

She let out a little disappointed moan. “And I guess we’re done with the dancing, too?”

“Not at all,” he shook his head. “We’ll continue the lesson once your leg’s okay–but maybe in flats this time.”

For some reason, this promise made her cheeks feel warm and her heart flutter.


	57. Grocery Store Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cuddle Up a Little Closer Meme](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/141888137499/cuddle-up-a-little-closer-a-domesticityintimacy) \- Grocery shopping

**Grocery Store Revelations**

Grant quickly read through the grocery list, planning the fastest route through the store in his head, then gave the list a brisk nod and turned towards Skye.

“It shouldn’t take too long,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to split up? It’d be more–“

“If you say something like ‘time effective,’ I swear I’m going to hit you,” she warned him, and there was something in her voice that told him she wasn’t entirely joking. “And I’ve told already, I won’t leave you alone to buy all…” she made vague gestures with her hands, “agent-y stuff. So you got yourself a partner on this mission, Robot,” she concluded, then simply grabbed the cart from him, and started pushing it towards the shelves. Grant just stood there for half a second, then shook his head, and, with a hint of a smile, followed her (okay, so maybe he was kind of glad she wasn’t willing to split up).

Although his happiness didn’t last exactly long.

He had a very specific idea of how grocery shopping should go: find the item from the list, take it from the shelf, then go on to the next item, and repeat, easy and simple. Skye, however, had very different ideas about shopping, as it turned out.

“What are you doing?” she hissed at him as he was just about to put the first thing into their cart–a bottle of mayo from a well-marketed brand. “You never take the first one,” she chastised him as she took the bottle from his hand and placed it back on the shelf. “And we don’t need this fancy stuff anyway.” She leaned forward, inspecting the bottles on the lower shelves, then picked up one from a no-name brand (and from the back of the shelf) and put it into the cart. “That’ll do.”

He didn’t comment on it, just gave her a little shrug, and checked the next thing on the list; it really wasn’t worth arguing over, and of it made her happy, then he was glad to go with it.

But when the trend continued he started to feel a little uneasy–Skye’d always refuse to buy well-known (and more expensive) brands, choosing cheaper versions instead, promising that they were “just as good,” or saying that she knew unbranded products that were even better than the branded ones, and then sometimes she’d stand in front of the shelf for a long time, trying to calculate which product had the best price-quantity ratio. For the first two or three times, he barely even noticed this little ritual. Then it started to annoy him a little. Then it made him think. And then when they got to the dairy section he finally got it.

“You… I mean back when you were living in your van…” he stuttered, trying to find the right words. It was all coming back to him–Simmons’ comments right after Skye’d joined the team about how she’s malnourished and needs this and that vitamin, Miles Lyndon snapping, blurting out that how she’d been barely scraping by… “You have some experience of it,” he concluded, not really voicing what he wanted to, but it seemed like she still understood what he meant, because she gave him a bittersweet smile.

“Yeah, when money is tight, you learn what ‘effective shopping’ really means,” she said, putting some milk into their cart. “And for me, money has been tight most of the time…” She turned away from him to grab more milk, but there was something in the way she seemed to avoid looking into his eyes that told him she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the topic.

“Hey,” he said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, making her look at him. “That’s not the case anymore, you know that, right?”

One corner of her mouth turned upwards into a tentative half-smile as she shrugged. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Then let’s break them.” The words slipped out before he could have given explicit order to his mouth to move (he just hated thinking about how it must have been for her before they’d found her). Skye blinked up at him.

“What?”

“Let’s break this habit and put you at ease,” he said, deciding to go with it.

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” she chuckled.

Grant stuffed the list into his jeans pocket and grabbed the handle of the cart. “By going on a shopping spree and buying something outrageous. For starters.”

She actually laughed at that, then slipped her arm through his.

“Alright, Robot, if you say so. Lead the way! Let’s treat ourselves.”

(Even if the others were a little confused when they got back to the Bus with a bunch of stuff that wasn’t on the shopping list, nobody said a word.)


	58. Pillowtalk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cuddle Up a Little Closer Meme](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/141888137499/cuddle-up-a-little-closer-a-domesticityintimacy) \- Pet names

_So this must be how cats feel like_ , Skye thought as she lay sprawled on top of Grant, her cheek against his wonderfully warm chest, while his hand drew lazy circles into the skin of her lower back. Honestly, she felt like _purring._

“I should go back to my bunk soon,” he said softly kissing the top of her head.

Skye grimaced without even opening her eyes. “No,” she whined, tightening her hold around his chest a little. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Somebody might notice that I’m gone, or see me coming out of here if I wait too long.”

“I don’t care,” she pouted. She really wasn’t in the mood of parting with him (she doubted she’ll ever want to part with him). “Stay.”

She felt his chest rock under her head as he chuckled soundlessly.

“Alright,” he said, running a hand through her hair. “I’ll stay for a bit longer, kincsem.”

She was just about to slip back to her satisfied, comfortable daze in the cocoon of his arms, but the last word caught her attention. Blinking her eyes open she raised her head just a little bit, so she could look into his eyes.

“What did you just say?”

The lighting was poor in her bunk, but she could have sworn that Grant blushed a little. “Nothing, really. It’s just an endearment.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Is it a problem?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s just… I’ve never heard of this word.” She lay her forearms crossed on his chest and rested her chin on her wrists, so their faces were only inches away. “What language is it? Russian?”

“No,” he replied, sounding a little relieved as he took a lock of her hair, and started twirling it between his fingers. “It’s Hungarian.”

“Wow,” she breathed, leaning back a little bit. “You speak Hungarian, too?”

“Just bits and pieces. I spent a couple of weeks there once–a lot of trafficking goes on there–, picked up this and that, but I doubt I could hold a conversation. It’s an interesting language, very colorful.”

“And…” she drew a finger from his clavicle to his neck. “What does this kin…” she struggled with the word.

“Kin-chem.”

“Kincsem,” she said, tasting the word. “So what does it mean?”

He took a moment before answering, staring into her eyes and raising a hand to her cheek, caressing her skin with his thumb.

“My treasure.” He ran his thumb along her lower lip. “It means my treasure.”

She couldn’t speak for a moment. “And… do you mean it?” she asked tentatively.

“Of course,” he replied, as if it wasn’t even a question.

Again, Skye was at loss of words. So she didn’t speak; instead she took his face into her hands, leaned forward, and sealed his lips with hers.

“And here I thought,” she said teasingly, her forehead resting against his, when they broke the kiss, “that you weren’t good at this romance-thing.”

He smiled at her. “I try. For you.” He stole another quick kiss. “Kincsem.”

“Keep saying that, and I’ll never let you out of this bunk.”

“You say that as if it was some great punishment.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to leave not even five minutes ago,” she pointed out.

“Well, not anymore.” His hands on her waist, he quickly turned them around, so he was above her. She put her tights around his hips, and her arms around his neck right away. “Now I’d rather stay.”

“Good answer,” she said, pulling him down for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, self-indulgent usage of Hungarian! Sue me. (I’m not sorry.) Also, I had to do the first paragraph, because as I was writing it, I really had a furry little monster purring on my chest.


	59. Planning Ahead (Skyeward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the Tumblr list [Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/139662164914/nonsexual-acts-of-intimacy-select-from-the) \- One character playing with the other's hair

She’s there, but she’s not–her thoughts are far away, jumping from topic to topic, from codes to room layouts to weapons, while her hands are skimming over her hair at the back of her head, pulling strand over strand, working and creating without much conscious thought.

“How do you do that?”

His voice startles her; a lock slips from between her fingers, falling to her shoulder. Lost in her own world, she’s completely forgotten for a moment that he’s in the room as well.

Skye turns slightly back to face him, letting her hair fall and the braid unravel. “Do what?” she asks when she composes herself, looking at him with a slight smile.

“This,” Grant answers, sitting down next to her on the edge of the bed and tucking a stray lock behind her ear, sweeping it towards the direction of the remnants of her never finished braid. “With your hair.”

“Oh, it’s just a French braid,” she shrugs, then combs through her hair with her fingers, smoothing it down. “No big deal. It just helps me think, keeping my hands busy.”

He smiles, and it’s genuine, but almost melancholic, as he wraps a long curl around his finger.

“Can you show me how to do it?”

She doesn’t say yes right away–not because she opposes the idea, simply because she doesn’t get _why_. Braiding hair is not something he’d ever need. But then she simply shrugs and gives him a little nod, then turns around so her back is to him. She hooks her thumbs under hair, just above her ears, then pulls it up, creating a little ponytail almost at the top of her head. She divides it into three strands, and starts braiding. Left over the middle, right over the middle, a small strand added, left over the middle, a small strand added, right over the middle… Going until she runs out of hair to add, and the braid reaches the end of her curls. Then she turns back towards him and says “That’s it. It’s not rocket science.”

He nods solemnly, exactly in the way he always does when listening to the details of upcoming missions.

“Can I try it?”

Her smile widens involuntarily. “Of course.”

She undoes the braid and sits with her back to him again, showing him a second time how to start.

His hands are gentle but awkward on her scalp; he has the natural talent for it (his hands were made for small, intricate tasks, not for combat, and in another life he might have wielded a paintbrush or played the piano), but none of the experience. A small, shorter strand escapes from her fingers and falls in front of her eyes.

“I’ve wanted to try it for a while,” he says after a few seconds of silence. “There’s something mesmerizing about the way you do your hair.”

“Then why now?” she asks, whishing she was sitting in front of a mirror so she could see his face.

“It’s… a kind of silly, I think,” he replies. She doesn’t need a mirror now to know he looks bashful. “I mean I’ve been thinking, and…” he pauses for a moment. “We might have a girl.” Her hand involuntarily slips to her belly, to rest on the curve that doesn’t exist yet. “And I’d like to be able to do it for her.”

There’s something in her eye, so she raises her hand to brush it away.

“You still have like… years until that,” she chuckles. “ _If_ we have a girl.”

“We will, sooner or later.” She chuckles again. “But in either case, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t learn how to do it now.” He finishes the braid and hands its end to her to secure it; it’s sloppy and uneven, one strand ending sooner than the other two. She raises a hand to her head, and feels stray hairs sticking out, whole locks left out, and an uneven pattern.

“Well,” she laughs, letting go of her hair and letting it unravel, “you’ll need some time to practice, that’s for sure.”

He laughs until her lips collide with his.


	60. Gently into the Night (Skyeward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the Tumblr list [Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy](http://orlissa.tumblr.com/post/139662164914/nonsexual-acts-of-intimacy-select-from-the) \- Accidentally falling asleep together

The movie marathon in the Playground’s common room was Skye’s idea–she said he’d missed too many iconic movies, and for their relationship to work he had to make those up. He smiled and shrugged and let her have her way.

So it was her idea–and yet, she was the one to fall asleep.

He noticed her eyelids dropping around the middle of the third movie; she wasn’t yawing, but he could see her movements getting sluggish and her head resting more heavily on his shoulder.

“Do you want to go to bed?” he asked at one point, pausing the movie. “We can finish it tomorrow.”

“No, no,” she shook her head, awakening a little. She took the remote from his hand and started the film again. “I’m okay. Not sleepy at all,” she said, hugging his arm and laying her head on his shoulder again. “I wanna finish it.”

And she did; it’s a completely different question that she did fall asleep, half-laying in his lap, fifteen minutes into the fourth movie (the one she had insisted on starting).

He finished the film without her–it was some inane comedy–, and when it was over, he turned the TV off, then just sat in the dark for a little bit.

She looked so calm in her sleep, so innocent; he knew he should have woken her and taken her to her room, but he simply didn’t have the heart to do it yet (or he was selfish to do it; he wasn’t sure), so he remained on the couch, her head in his lap, her hand on his knee, counting her breaths. She was beautiful, and looked so fragile, and he loved her so much. The thought of breaking the moment was unbearable, and even though it was getting late, and he really should have gone to bed, he just couldn’t get himself to get up…

And anyway, he thought, caressing her hair, what harm it would do if he closed his eyes for five minutes?…

He woke in the morning, later than he usually did, still on the couch, but somehow by then lying on his back, his head on the armrest, Skye on top of him, her head pillowed on his chest, both of them covered with a blanket.

He decided then and there that it was the best way to wake up.


	61. It Can’t Rain Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anon, as a pitiful attempt to break my writer’s block

She wakes to that uneasy feeling that comes with unknown beds; her mind is coaxed into consciousness by the sheets not being quite right–not better or worse than what she’s used to, just simply… not right.

She blinks her eyes open, but all she sees is the white pillow her head is resting on, bathed in sunlight. She closes them again and stretches, like a cat, her thoughts still too muddled by her dreams to actually register the things around her–like the foreign room, the drapeless window, or the sheets under her bare back.

And then it all starts coming back.

The mission. Her bumping into Ward. Forming a delicate alliance. The storm. Him suggesting that they go to one of his safe houses nearby instead of going on their separate ways. Her agreeing to it – she still doesn’t know why. Getting drenched in the rain on their way there. Laughing at their own pitiful state as they peeled off their clothing. Him promising to get some dry clothes–something he never actually got around doing. Her hands on his cheeks. His mouth on her throat. Making love with lightning in the background.

A part of her, one that might be more romantic than practical–a part that wants more of last night–, nudges her to reach over to the other side of the bed. She complies, but her searching fingers find nothing but crumpled, cool sheets.

The last vestiges of sleep suddenly leaving her, she sits up, clutching the sheets to her chest (there’s a hickey just under her collar bone and her center aches ever so slightly as she moves), and looking around. The room only holds the bare necessities–even the bed’s just a mattress on the floor–, with no adornments, and… he’s gone.

She can see her own clothes, hung to dry on the dresser and on the back of the chair, but his are gone–even the Henley she oh-so-carelessly threw to the corner the previous night. Apart from the obviously used sheets, there’s absolutely no sign of him–of him ever having been there–in the room.

She draws in a shaky breath, while feeling as if her stomach has turned into stone (it feels like being rejected, abandoned again, as absurd as it is). Because _of course_ he’d leave–they have nothing to do with each other anymore. No, that’s not true–they’re enemies now (or are they?), enemies who definitely shouldn’t have slept together. For goodness’ sake, she should have arrested him the moment they met instead of… well, yeah. So it’s no surprise that he left–she would have done the same thing in his place.

But still… it sucks.

She stands with trembling legs, and, the sheets still clutched to her chest (why? It’s not like there’s anyone else in the apartment she should protect her modesty from), she limps over to her clothes.

So, yeah, she follows her previous train of thought as she checks whether her shirt has dried over the night, she gets why he’s gone. This way he only loses a safe house, instead of getting his ass hauled to prison. But it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt, especially not after a night when she _almost_ hoped. Of course it’s not like that she could have expected anything else–good morning sex and cuddling has never been in the cards for them, but still–

She freezes.

There’s some soft sound coming from outside the apartment–a jingle of keys, one of them being inserted into the lock, then the lock turning…

Without thinking, she grabs for her gun lying on the top of the dresser (she doesn’t stop to ponder over the fact that it’s _still_ there), then, the gun clutched in her fist, her other hand clumsily holding the sheets up, she pulls into cover by the door, and, holding her breath, she waits for the attack.

But it doesn’t come.

She hears the front door open with a loud creak, then someone steps into the apartment with unhurried steps, followed by another creak as the door closes. She waits for a moment, bracing herself, then jumps from her hiding spot, gun raised, and–

“Ward?”

She stops, right on the threshold, staring at the man standing in the small hallway gazing back at her with a paper tray of coffee and a paper bag in hand. “You’re… here.”

He nods slowly. “Yes.” He looks a bit taken aback, but slightly, well, _amused_. “It’s my place, technically, you know,” he says with a smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth.

She lowers the gun to her side, still not moving. “I thought–“ She inhales sharply; she has no idea why it’s hard to speak. “I thought you were gone.”

He blinks, his whole expression faltering. “No, I just…” He takes a step closer and holds up the items in his hands. “The fridge is empty, and I thought you’d be hungry, so… I went out to get some food. There’s a nice little bakery–“

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her, but she drops the gun and rushes to him, throwing her arms around his neck, almost knocking the food from his hands. She feels his chuckle as she tucks her head under his chin.

“Missed me?” he asks after placing the breakfast on the nearby counter and curling his arms around her body.

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbles, but there’s no malice behind the words.

There’s a moment of silence–during which she swears he holds her closer–, then he says in a strange, broken whisper, “I was afraid you’d be gone by the time I got back.”

“It sucked to wake up alone,” she replies as he starts caressing her hair. It feels nice; stupid lies and betrayals and rationality to be damned, it feels nice to be in his arms.

“So let’s not leave each other anymore,” he says softly into her ear.

She chuckles, with tears stinging her eyes, because it’s _absurd_ , it’s impossible, it’d would never work, and they shouldn’t indulge in delusions like this, and still… she wants it.

“Alright.”


	62. Lazy Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a month of silence, I finally wrote a thing. It went painstakingly slow, and I’m not sure I’m happy with it, but it’s done, and it means that I’m a step closer to breaking free from my writer’s block–which reminds me: a big, fat thank you goes to everybody who’s been giving me moral support through my fight with this demon of writers, especially to StargazerDaisy who’s been the unfortunate subject of my whining for weeks now. Love ya, girl :) As for the piece itself – please, enjoy.

Grant carefully closed the bathroom door behind himself, then, as quietly as he could, he made his way across the dim room. It was early in the morning–not awfully early by his standards, but still early enough that most of the base was still asleep, making it the perfect time to hit the gym before the busy part of the day started.

A hand already on the doorknob, he paused, and turned back for a moment–he just couldn’t leave before sneaking a look at the bed first. His lips curled into a decidedly foolish smile at the sight.

Skye was sleeping peacefully, her legs tangled in the sheets, lying slightly sideways on the mattress, leaning into his now empty side of the bed as if unconsciously looking for him; she had even taken his pillow, which now she held crushed against her chest, her face buried in it.

His hand falling from the doorknob, he took a tentative step towards the bed. A month or so ago this would have been the time when he had woken her, coaxed her out of bed, and dragged her down to the gym as well, but a lot of things had happened in the last month or so, so now it wasn’t the case anymore.

His gaze involuntarily wandered to her abdomen–her shirt had ridden up a little as she slept, exposing just a small strip of tanned skin right above her hips, and drawing his eyes there. There was nothing there yet, at least nothing obvious–nothing to the unknowing eye–, but he was well-acquainted with her body, knew every curve and dip and freckle, and could already see the change there, just the slightest slope right above the waistband of her pajama bottoms as a tiny bump was already forming there.

She was pregnant, ten, almost eleven weeks now, and it was taking its toll on her physically: she was often tired, needing more sleep than before–that’s why he tried to let her sleep in–, and nausea was tormenting her, sometimes making it almost impossible for her to keep anything down–he could even see in the sharper cut of her cheekbones that she’d lost some weight recently, something he’d been told was normal, but still worried him a little. But she still, well, for the lack of a better word, _glowed_. She was radiant and beautiful and amazing and a thousand other things he just couldn’t put into words.

Not even realizing what he was doing, he crossed over to the bed, sat on the edge of the mattress (morning work out to be damned), and gently placed his hand on her belly, his fingers slipping underneath the hem of her top.

They hadn’t planned this baby; it was a surprise, at one of the most inopportune moments, causing not a small amount of stress for them. There had been… some bad days, especially right after they had learned that Skye was pregnant, but still hadn’t know if they could fit it into the life they were living, or if the baby was even viable; when everything had been unsure and scary, but they had gotten through them, and now he couldn’t even imagine a universe where this child–their child–didn’t exist.

It seemed even more impossible now after this week–they had had their second prenatal appointment just a couple of days ago and had an ultrasound done. It was also their second, but the first, done at six weeks to determine the pregnancy, showed barely more than a small blob with a pulsing center. But the baby had grown a lot in the last month, and on this second picture, now proudly displayed on the communal fridge (they were a crazy, dysfunctional family after all) a lot more could be seen: their baby now had a big head–and he could already see the nose and the mouth and the eyes forming–and a small body, with her tiny, thin arms and legs clearly visible…

He chuckled to himself. _Her._

It was way too early to tell, of course, but he wished for a daughter. It was all he could imagine–a mini-Skye, pigtails flying as she impatiently pouts and stomps. A beautiful little girl who wears her heart on her sleeve, needs to be kissed goodnight to sleep well, but faces bravely the monster living under her bed.

Sometimes it was still a little hard for him to wrap his mind around the idea that in a couple of years this fantasy might just become reality, and that in barely six months he’d actually become a father.

Seized by a sudden impulse, he leaned in and, careful, trying not to wake her, pressed a light kiss against Skye’s stomach.

“Hey, baby girl,” he heard himself whisper; it was silly, of course–he knew it would be weeks before the baby could hear them–, but he just couldn’t help himself. “It’s your… dad. Or daddy. Whichever you prefer, really,” he added, smiling at his own absurdity. “I just wanted to let you know that… well, that we’re excited to meet you. There are a lot of great people out here that already love you. And…” He paused and took a deep breath. “Look, I’m going to mess up a lot, because, well, that’s what I do. But I promise you that I’ll do my best, okay? I’ll do everything in my power to be the best father for you, the father you deserve–because you deserve the best parents in the world, and honestly, you couldn’t even ask for a better mom–but if I scr... I mean, if I mess something up, just tell me, alright? And then we’ll work on it. I love you, peanut,” he concluded, giving Skye’s belly one last gentle caress before withdrawing his hand; but he’d crossed the line with it–the next moment he heard Skye let out a small, discontent noise at being woken up, then she shifted, her nose wrinkling a bit as she stretched her legs, pulling the sheets with them.

“Hm… Is it morning yet?” she mumbled into her stolen pillow. He slid up a little on the bed and kissed the top of her head.

“Not yet. Go back to sleep.”

“Then why are you up?” Without opening her eyes, she reached out and took his hand, pulling it to her face; he let her.

“I just had a little talk with the baby,” he admitted softly.

She turned his hand around in hers and pressed a kiss against his palm. “And what did the baby say?”

“You tell me,” he chuckled, and she wrinkled her nose again.

“I think she just wants to be let to sleep a bit more.” She yawned. “But she really appreciates the conversation. She’ll get back to you in a couple of hours.”

Grant chuckled in amusement. “I’m all up for it,” he replied, lacing their fingers together. “How are you feeling?” Mornings, and late afternoons, and any events including strong smells, really, hadn’t been much fun recently due to her morning sickness; that was one aspect of her pregnancy he couldn’t wait to pass.

She let out a breath. “Good. For now. I’d knock on wood…” she sighed, “but the nightstand is too far away.”

“Fingers crossed,” he said softly, still smiling and holding her hand as watched her breathing slowly even out again as she was falling back to sleep. He stayed for a while longer, just gazing at her, trying to imagine the same scene in a month, in six months, in a year–just the two (three) of them on lazy mornings… Then, when he was sure she’d fallen back to sleep, he carefully pulled his hand from hers and was just about to get up when he heard her voice once again.

“Grant?” she asked, opening her eyes and lifting her head a little. “Where are you going?”

“Just to the gym,” he said. “I have a date with the punching bag.”

She let her head drop back to the pillow, then let out a strange little noise that might have been intended to be a cross between a chuckle and a snort. “Shame on you,” she mumbled into the pillow. “You barely knock me up, and you’re already looking for your next affair.”

“Like anyone could replace you,” he grinned, then leaned in a pressed a kiss against her forehead. “I’ll see you at breakfast,” he said, finally getting up from the bed.

“Okay,” she nodded sleepily, then added, “Make me pancakes when you’re done? Please.”

“Of course,” he said, but he was half-sure that she didn’t hear it–it looked like she’d already fallen back to sleep. So, as quietly as he could, he left the room, letting her catch a little bit more sleep while he did his morning workout and made her pancakes–which, he was afraid, she wouldn’t even touch in the end.

_(Twenty-nine weeks to go.)_


	63. I’ll Guard Your Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **OTP Prompts:** _Imagine your OTP snuggling in bed with their newborn baby between them_

“Aren’t you supposed to sleep when your baby is sleeping?”

“Who says that?”

“Most people?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care.”

He chuckles at her retort, but doesn’t say a word; maybe because he doesn’t feel like sleeping either.

They’re snuggled up in bed, very much they have done some many times before, only there’s one big difference between the past and a now–and that difference is sleeping peacefully between them.

Grant reaches out and draws a careful finger along the baby’s forearm. She’s less than a day old–she was born that morning, and it still seems unbelievable that twenty-four hours ago it was just the two of them in the very same bed–, and he already loves her more than he would have ever thought it possible, although he’s still having a hard time wrapping his head around the idea that he has a daughter–that he’s a father. (It doesn’t even matter the slightest that he had nine months to come to terms with this.)

Skye reaches for the baby, too–she must be feeling the same need to touch as he does, almost as if their daughter was just a mirage that can disappear any moment–, and their hands touch. Their eyes meet, and she gives him a tired smile; it was a long labor, and she should be resting, but somehow… Somehow watching their baby sleep is more rewarding.

“She’s beautiful,” she whispers, and he can see the tears well in her eyes. The urge to lean over and kiss her is almost overwhelming.

“She’s perfect,” he answers and he means it. He’s never seen a creature more perfect than their daughter. Every little piece of her–her tiny fingers, that bottom nose, those pouty lips, that dark hair, those eyes–is simply breathtaking.

“I wonder what she’ll be like,” she says softly after a little while, caressing the baby’s tummy. “Who she’ll be.”

“She could be anything. Whatever she wants to be.”

“She could change the world.”

“She could be president.”

Skye chuckles softly, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “But don’t start planning her campaign just yet. Let her walk first.”

“And speak. That sounds kinda important too,” he goes on with the joke. The baby hiccups in her sleep, almost as if she found it funny too.

“But joking put aside,” he says after a short pause, slipping a finger under the baby’s hand, “she’s going to be smart, and kind, and compassionate, and thoroughly amazing. Just like her mother.”

_I hope she’ll be just like you._

He could swear she blushes a little.

“And strong, and brave, and loyal, and a total badass. Just like her father,” she counters.

“You think it’s okay to teach her such… bad words already?” he asks with a smile.

“No. I just…” She yawns. “…I just don’t feel like fighting a battle I’ve already lost.”

He reaches for her hand, brings it to his lips, and kisses it. “Sleep a little,” he pleads with her.

“I don’t want to,” she argues, but he can see her eyelids already drop as she places her head on the pillow. “I just want to keep watching her.”

(She doesn’t add that it’s because the baby feels like a dream and she fears waking up to a world where she doesn’t exist, but she doesn’t need to; Grant feels the same.)

“She’ll be right here when you wake up,” he promises. “I’ll keep her safe while you sleep.”

For a moment, he can feel her coming argument linger in the air between them, but then her eyes finally drift closed, and she nods sleepily, hugging the pillow close. “Alright. Just for a couple of minutes.” And the next moment she’s already asleep, one of her hands resting on the baby’s tummy.

And as they sleep, he watches over their dreams.


	64. France at Dusk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I submitted my thesis today, so let's get back to the fanfic-saddle. Which, in the first round, means cleaning my Tumblr inbox (I have drabble prompts there that are embarrassingly old).

It’s kind of ridiculous, really, but in a way that she can hardly keep herself from smiling. Because he might be _the best since Romanoff_ ninety-nine percent of times, but with her? He’s like an open book.

They’re parking the Bus in western France for the night, near some little town that looks like it was pulled straight from a postcard. It’s charming and lovely and she just wants to see it and breathe in the fresh air and walk among buildings that might be older than her country and forget all her worries for a little while.

Ward catches her just as she is about to walk down the cargo bay ramp.

“Where are you off to?” he asks, standing up on the catwalk, with the slightest of smiles on his lips.

 _To the bookshop_ , she almost answers, because it just seems fitting, but then she says, “Just out for a walk in town. No particular destination.”

“Mind if I join you?”

She doesn’t; so they leave together.

And it’s just simply… ridiculous. And cute, too, in a way. Because they walk side-by-side, close enough to touch ( _to hold hands_ ), yet they don’t, and they talk about silly things, and he laughs when she makes lame jokes. They trade stories and have dinner in a little café, where he pays because _don’t worry about it_ , and then continue walking around town, even though the sun is slowly setting, and the whole situation is a tangle of romantic clichés.

Not that it’s a date.

Of course it isn’t.

(That would be highly unprofessional.)

It’s not a date until they don’t call it a date.

Finally, they end up in some storybook-like park, with old oaks and a pond with ducks, and it’s just lovely, so she aims for the closest bench and sits down there. He follows her without a word, taking seat a proper distance from her, then putting his arms on the backrest of the bench and letting his head fall back (she watches him closely as he does this; there’s some puzzling grace about how he moves, and she wants to figure it all out).

Once he’s settled, she scoots closer to him, turning towards him and pulling one of her legs up, so her knee almost touches his thigh. She smirks.

“So…” she starts, drawing out the word, waiting until he looks at her. “It’s a really beautiful place.”

He exhales at her words, and smiles just a little bit brighter than before. “It is.”

“You bring me to such nice places, Agent Ward.”

He snickers. “I didn’t really bring you here.”

She slides a bit closer, until her knee is digging into his thigh; he doesn’t move. “Still. I had a great time.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, me to,” he says when he glances at her again, looking almost shy.

“So…” She lightly bits into her lower lip. “Only one question remains.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She leans closer to him than what would be appropriate. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

He freezes. Then closes his eyes and grins. And the he laughs.

And he is just too adorable for her not to kiss him.


	65. Shock

Grant Ward was famous for his tidiness and how he kept things around himself in order, which all came with the territory of being a specialist.

Maybe that’s why he was simply refusing to admit that he misplaced the sensor he and Skye used on an undercover mission the previous day–the one Fitz wanted back ASAP.

Cursing under his breath, he turned the pockets of the clothes he had worn the day before inside out–for what felt like the fifth time–, upended his backpack on the mattress, and even knelt on the floor to look under the bed. So far–nothing. And he kind of blamed Skye for this.

There were many upsides of bunking with Skye–going to bed with her, waking up with her in his arms, feeling her scent on the bedsheets, having her all to himself for long hours every day–, but dealing with her mess (which she called “organized chaos”) and its influence on his tidiness was not one of them.

He ran his fingers through his hair, then turned towards the top of the dresser, where her little knick-knacks–everything and anything from lotions through spare batteries to her hula doll–were lying, and, as last resort started to dig through them.

“Skye!” he called towards the bathroom where she was, based on the sounds, just getting out of the shower, as he reached for her purse, sitting on the corner of the dresser, open and almost spilling its contents. “Have you seen the…?” His hand collided with something in the bag, something that made him freeze right away. “Oh…”

“Have I seen what?” Skye asked casually, as she came out of the bathroom, wrapped up in a bathrobe and toweling her hair. And then she saw him, standing by the dresser, eyes wide open in shock, a small, pink box in hand, and she froze, too. “Oh…”

“Skye…” he started, his heart beating in his throat. “Do you… I mean… do you want to…?”

“I wanted to tell you, I swear,” she said in a small voice, her lower lip trembling. “I was going to…”

“Are you?”

She let out a strange sound that was between and exhale and a sob. “I don’t know!” She stepped to the bed, let the towel fall to the floor, and plopped down on the mattress. “I’ve been feeling off for a couple of days, but I just couldn’t…” she trailed off, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand.

Taking a deep breath, Grant put the box back on the dresser and walked over to the bed, sat down next to her, and pulled her to his side; she let him. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

She let out a strangled sob. “It’s like Schrodinger’s cat.”

He chuckled out of sheer frustration and at the ridiculousness of it all. “What?”

“Until I open this box, I can be both pregnant and not pregnant.” She wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just… I just…”

She was afraid; he could understand. It wasn’t something they had talked about, and their situation wasn’t the best–far from it–either, and she was afraid… she was afraid he’d be mad, that he wouldn’t want it, that he would _leave her_ (how many times could she have seen that happen?).

Not that he’d do any of that, ever.

Gently coaxing her, he pulled her to his lap, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping his arms securely around her. Even if just slightly, but she seemed to relax in his embrace.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing the crown of her head. “I’m not angry. I wish you told me sooner, so… so you didn’t have to go through it alone, but I’m not angry. And whatever that… thing says… whatever you want… I’ll be right there with you.”

She hiccupped, clutching the material of his fist in her hand, pulling herself as close to him as physically possible.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” _I’ll be the best father any child could ever want_ , he wanted to say, but he didn’t; he didn’t want to say it out loud just yet.

She was completely still and silent for a moment, then raised her head and lightly, just like a feather’s touch, kissed him. “Thank you.”


	66. Strawberries

Skye’s on the bed when he gets back from his evening workout—she’s sitting cross-legged on the covers, completely engrossed in whatever is on the screen of her laptop as she munches on a bowl of strawberries, her back against the headboard, hair up in a messy bun, wearing a T-shirt about three sizes too big, and not much else.

She is absolutely adorable.

A small voice tells Grant he should give her a bit of a lecture about the importance of situational awareness—she hasn’t even flinched since he’s entered the room—, but another, much more dominant voice (one she’s called to life) demands something else. He gives in to the second.

With a mischievous smirk on his face, he quietly walks over to the bed—she still hasn’t noticed a thing—, and pulls the strawberry bowl away from her, just as she’s reaching for it. When her fingertips meet with thin air, she finally looks up at him.

“Looking for this?” he teases her, popping a piece of fruit into his mouth.

“Hey!” she protests half-heartedly, a smile breaking out on her face as she leans forward, trying to recapture the bowl. “I was gonna eat that!”

He catches her wrist with one hand, while places the bowl on the nightstand with the other. “Counter proposal,” he says, kneeling on the mattress and inching towards her, “I’ll eat you instead.”

(It’s corny. It’s horrible. He doesn’t care.)

She giggles and doesn’t protest when he presses his lips against hers (she tastes like strawberries, sweet and zesty), his tongue darting forward to seek entrance into her mouth, while his hand slips beneath her shirt.

Then she pushes him away.

“Ugh, you can forget that.”

“What?”

“You smell,” she chuckles. “Like, bad. No way I’m letting you in my panties in that state. Take a shower first, Romeo.”

He smirks and shrugs. “Okay,” he says, before he swiftly slips his arms around her, lifts her from the bed, and carries her—squealing and struggling half-heartedly—to the bathroom.

Well, she didn’t say he needed to shower alone.

(She can all the strawberries she wants later.)


	67. Nighttime, on the Water’s Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sentence prompt: "I can’t believe you talked me into this."

Grant just shakes his head with a small, disbelieving smile on his face as he watches Skye unbutton her shorts and push them down her hips. Still, the next moment he reaches for the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” he murmurs as he drops the garment on the rocks.

Skye looks at him with slightly furrowed brows (that kind of says “spoilsport”), then she sticks her tongue at him. “You act like you’ve never gone skinny-dipping before, Robot.”

He might have not. At least not with other people. Not that he is going to admit to that.

“It’s still a bad idea,” he says instead. It doesn’t escape his notice that, despite what he’s saying, he keeps undressing, kicking off his shoes.

“Why, because it hurts your virtue?” That impish glint he loves so much is right there in her gaze. “You shouldn’t worry about that. One, you have nothing to be ashamed of. And two, it’s not like there’s anything I haven’t seen before.” Here’s that tongue once again.

“It’s a bad idea,” he says, almost as if he didn’t even hear her, “because we’re on Stark property.” He unbuckles his belt. “His private residence.” Lowers his fly. “Enjoying his hospitality.” Pushes down his pants. “If we were caught, it would lead to a very uncomfortable situation.”

He catches her bra a millisecond before it hits him in the face.

“Knowing Stark,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her, which puts her bare breasts on display (he can’t not look), “he’d join us in a heartbeat.” One corner of her mouth quirks upward, then, lowering her arms, she shimmies out of her panties, holds them up, then drops them rather dramatically. She cocks a challenging eyebrow at him. “So, as I see it, we have nothing to lose. And don’t tell me you don’t want it.” (Of course he wants it.) “So now you can stay here and be sour about it, or you can follow me.” And with that, she turns around, walks to the edge of the low cliff, and, with one last, teasing glance at him, she jumps. He hears the water splash a moment later.

Chuckling, he shakes his head as he gets rid of his last remaining piece of clothing, then does what he always does—he follows her.


	68. The Audience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sentence prompt: "Shut up and kiss me."

Her arms crossed over her chest, Skye paces in front of his bed, from wall to wall, all the while muttering to herself.

“That guy’s pretty smart, I’m not saying smarter than me, but pretty smart, building a firewall like that…”

He sits on his bed, following her with his gaze, almost as if he was watching a very slow tennis match. He doesn’t really understand a word she’s saying, but it doesn’t bother him much.

“I could try to find a backdoor. Or build it for myself? It would be difficult, but it wouldn’t be impossible…”

He’s smiling softly—she’s entertaining to watch. Her little twitches, the miniscule shifts in her expression. There’s a crease between her eyebrows, one he likes to kiss smooth, but now even that seems amusing.

“Maybe I could approach it from the hardware side? No, that’s just stupid…”

She’s brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. He knows that, of course he knows that, but in moments like this, it just hits him. Not because she’s struggling with a problem, but because he knows she’s going to solve it.

“Or I could create a trojan. Or code something that seems harmless enough that the system would let it pass through, but—“

“Skye.”

“—it’d give me inside access—“

“ _Skye._ ”

“—and then I could crack it from the inside. Yeah, that’d—“

“ _Skye!_ ”

She stops in her tracks, startled and finally quiet, and looks at him, her eyes wide with surprise. The corners of his mouth turn upwards.

“Yes?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

There’s a small pause, no longer than a second, and then she grins. The next moment she’s diving for him, sitting down on his lap and her arms winding around his neck. And then she’s kissing him.

He’ll never tire of her.


	69. Vegas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sentence prompt: "We're out of money?!"

Vegas, especially the depth of the casinos, is not one of Ward’s favorite places—although it has its advantages, it’s just too much of a hubbub, too many variables, too many things that can go wrong, so he avoids it when he can.

But tonight, yeah, tonight it’s pretty amusing.

He’s standing aside, leaning against a bar top, a glass of martini in hand, and watches Skye—clad it a pretty cocktail dress, but still a little underdressed for this place—, as she, slowly, but surely, loses money and soberness at the nearby Black Jack table. Not that it seems to get her down.

There’s a point, though, when enough is enough; emptying the last of his drink, he adjusts his suit jacket and walks over to her table, intent on getting her out before she loses her whole salary. He approaches her from behind, putting his hand on her shoulder. She jumps at first, startled, then, craning her neck, she looks up at him, dazed smile on her face.

“Hello. Come to play?”

He cracks a half smile for her. “No, but you should go now.”

“Why?” Her eyes go a little wider. “We’re out of money?!”

“Not yet,” he tells her, sneaking an arm around her shoulder, trying to get her stand up. “But you might be soon.”

“Oh, come on!” She shakes him off. “Don’t be a party pooper!” He gives her a steely gaze, one he has mastered as his S.O. She pouts. “Nah, just one more game, please!”

_She could always get him do whatever she wanted him to do…_

He sighs. “Alright,” he says, unbuttoning his jacket and sitting down on the empty chair next to her. “But,” reaching for her, he gently pulls her into his lap, arranging her into an intimate, but ever-so-often seen position, one that doesn’t attract attention, but allows him to whisper into her ear, “let me lead this time.”

He might not like casinos, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how they work. In five minutes, he knows their dealer’s every tell. In ten, he knows exactly what cards are coming. Twelve minutes in, Skye still in his lap, he whispers instructions into her ear that helps her win back what she’s lost and then some, in one go.

She lets out a victorious cry, then, wrapping her arms around his neck, she kisses him, full on the lips.

She’s overjoyed. She’s drunk. She probably won’t remember it the next day. It doesn’t mean a thing.

Still, his lips tingle even after he retreats to his room.


	70. Spring Cleaning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "It brings out your eyes."

When Grant stepped through the door after a long day filled with frustrating leads that led nowhere, he found the room he shared with Skye in complete disarray. This, in itself, wasn’t that surprising—he loved Skye more than anything, but she wasn’t the tidiest person—, but his one and only standing in front of the open closet, most of her body obscured by the its doors, and periodically throwing pieces of clothing over her shoulder that landed on the ever-growing pile on the bed, was a bit more unexpected.

“What are you doing?” he blurted out, his mouth widening into a smile as he walked over to the armchair in the corner and threw his jacket over the its back.

“Oh, hi, babe!” Skye barely broke rhythm, just leaned back a bit to look at him over the edge of the closet door and flashed him a quick smile as she swept an errant lock of hair from her eyes that had escaped from the haphazard bun on the top of her head. “I’m being sensible,” she said, already turning back towards the closet.

“Sensible?” he repeated with a low, incredulous chuckle as he sat down in the chair and started to unlace his boots.

“Yep,” she said, the ‘p’ popping like an overblown chewing gum. “I’m getting rid of all the clothes I’m not wearing anymore. Like, look…” Turning towards him, she held up a shirt for him to see. “This one has a bloodstain I hoped would come out, but of course _it didn’t_ , so… out. And this…” She dropped the shirt on the pile, then lifted an already discarded pair of jeans. “…This has a hole on the crotch—don’t ask—, and I meant to mend it, but it’d still look _ugh_ , so this one is out too.” She let it fall back, then, explanation done, she turned to the closet once again.

Amused by her antics, Grant shook his head as he slipped his shoes under the chair, then stood up and stepped to the bed to take a better look at her “discard” pile. Most of it really deserved to be thrown out—there were T-shirts with holes in them, frayed and faded sweaters, pants with old stains that no washing powder would take out, no matter what the ads promised. But then his gaze fell on a flash a purple—on a slightly faded Henley, a crocheted inlay running down its sleeves. On a very familiar Henley. He inhaled sharply.

“You can’t throw this out,” he declared, fishing the shirt out of the pile.

Skye stopped, turning towards him, her eyebrows arched in question. “What?” She took a glance at the piece of clothing in his hand. “Of course I can. It’s old, and I haven’t worn it in…”

“You can’t,” he cut in, making her blink in confusion.

“Why?”

“Because…” His gaze dropped to the shirt for a moment before he looked up at her again. “Because it brings out your eyes?” He didn’t mean it to sound like a question, but it still ended up that way.

The corner of Skye’s mouth twitched. “You wanna go again?”

“Because…” He let out a long sigh, then, almost shy, he said, “because you wore this when we first met.”

Skye’s expression softened right away. “Oh,” she breathed, blinking and her lips parting slightly as she reached for the shirt; he let her take it. “I guess I did,” she said, caressing the material with her thumbs, gazing at the purple cotton, before raising her gaze to look into his eyes again. “You really remember what I was wearing that day?”

He didn’t say a thing, only offered her a little shrug, as if he was trying to tell her that _of course_ he remembered—of that, and many, many other small, otherwise insignificant things that were only momentous to him because they involved _her_. Tilting her head sideways, she smiled at him.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said, reaching for an empty hanger, “I can’t throw this out.” She slipped the shirt on the hanger and carefully placed it back in the closet, then reached for the next thing she wanted to throw out. Only her hand stilled mid-movement, then her whole body froze, as if something had suddenly dawned upon her. She turned towards him, menacingly slow. “You remember that shirt because you were staring at my boobs.”

Grant swallowed nervously. “In my defense, you were pushing…” he started as he walked around the bed towards her, his hands raised in defense.

“You remember because you were staring at my boobs!” she laughed, throwing a balled up shirt at him, which he easily deflected.

“And,” he said, slipping his arms around her waist amidst her laughter, “because it brings out your eyes.”


	71. Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I'll pick you up at the airport."
> 
> I cheated a bit, because the prompt is not in the story as an actual line of dialogue, but, hey, let actions speak, right? :D

The fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. came with many drawbacks, one of them—or maybe the root of most of them—being the severe budget cuts. Gone were the days when they could get away with causing tens of thousands dollars of damage to the Bus and only get a stern look and a half-hearted scolding from the director. These days every dollar counted and was counted—at least it seemed like it.

And that meant that Grant had to grit his teeth and fly coach from time to time, because sometimes it just didn’t worth it to lift the quinjet from the hangar and waste the fuel. For example when he was just following up some intel from an old acquaintance in Libya—when he was going alone and not pressed by time. In that case, it was logical to fly coach. Sensible. Monetarily wise. But it didn’t mean that he had to like it.

His legs felt almost numb after spending twelve hours cramped into his seat and his neck had a crick from falling asleep on the plane, as he dragged—with considerably less swagger in his steps than usually—his duffel through the airport after getting off his flight back to the States. He was, as Skye would have put it, grumpy: the trip was a bust, he was tired, jet-lagged, and still had to drive back to the Playground and give a report to Coulson before he could have crawled into bed and maybe smuggled some cuddle-time with Skye. So, yes, he was a hairbreadth’s away from snapping at somebody.

He was so deep in self-pity—not that he’d have admitted it to anyone—that he almost missed it; really, if he hadn’t been so conditioned to be always aware of his surroundings, even if only unconsciously, he would have missed it.

He caught it from the corner of his eye, first not even processing it, then thinking that his exhausted mind was playing tricks on him. Still, something compelled him to take a second look, so he did—and his lips pulled into a wide smile right away.

Skye was standing among the welcoming crowd, grinning ear to ear, with a sign in her hands held high, reading simply “Robot” with huge, black, block letters. Chuckling to himself, Grant shook his head and started walking faster towards her. Seeing that he’d spotted her, Skye lowered the sign and jogged up to him, meeting him halfway and throwing her arms around his neck. Grant returned her embrace somewhat awkwardly, still holding the duffel with one hand while the snaked around her waist, pulling her close to him, as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply—she smelled like strawberries and gunpowder and _home_.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, still smiling, when they finally pulled away. “I thought no-one was coming to pick me up.”

“Well, yeah, I was kinda bored so I volunteered,” she said with a smirk, winking at him, before she stood on the tip of her toes and pressed a quick, soft kiss against his lips. Then, pulling only halfway away, she hesitated for a moment, their noses almost touching, as if she was considering if she’d had enough, then kissed him again, deeper this time. He leaned into the kiss. “And I might have missed you a bit.”

“A bit?” he teased.

“Just a tiny bit,” she demonstrated by putting her thumb and index finger together before sliding her hand into his. “I mean, there was no-one to make me coffee in the morning,” she went on, as she started to gently lead him towards the exit. “It was a real bummer.”

Chuckling quietly, he cupped her chin in his hand, turned her face towards his, and stole another kiss. “I missed you too,” he said, still feeling the tingle of her lips on his. “A lot.”

“I hope,” she started, her voice husky, almost a whisper, as she lowered her eyelids, her gaze focused on his lips; the corner of her mouth twitched. “I hope you brought me some chocolate from Libya.”

He simply laughed.


End file.
